


What If?

by ZNKhan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Demons, F/M, Inspired by Shadowhunters (TV), Magic, Warlock - Freeform, Witch - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 15:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12914391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZNKhan/pseuds/ZNKhan
Summary: What if there was no downworld and all those mythological creatures were created in a place called Solaris and what if they were in two different categories, daydwellers and nocturnalites? What if Clary had always been part of the magical world? What if Luke wasn't a werewolf but was a mundane? What if Shadowhunters worked in secret and were considered a nuisance by the Mayor? What if Luke wasn't a werewolf but was a mundane and the husband of Jocelyn and the father of Clary? What if Clary wasn't a Shadowhunter? What if she went to Hogwarts and was a Hufflepuff? What if Jace was part faerie?What if Simon never became a vampire? What if every human who wasn't a mundane had the Sight and possessed magic, therefore making it the norm? What if Clary had two uncles, a cousin called Derrick and a tabby cat called Kevin? What if this whole thing happened in England? What if?





	1. The Mundane

‘I’m going to tell you a story Clarissa and it’s a good one,’ Jocelyn told her five year old daughter softly. ‘About Solaris, the magic kingdom. Are you ready?’  
Little Clary Garraway nodded, snuggling further into her mother’s warmth. She loved story time. The pair was lying on Clary’s bed in the dingy motel room they had rented with its peeling walls and slightly unappealing smell. This was the life Clary had always known. Motel rooms, sometimes free, sometimes not, shelters, empty apartments, the owners of which had gone on vacation. Never staying anywhere too long. This was how Clary had spent her first five years of life.  
Through the gap in the curtains over the windows, the night sky was visible. A siren in the distance could faintly be heard. Clary liked her family’s travels. Liked visiting different places. She enjoyed falling asleep in the back of her parents’ car, never quite knowing where the family would end up. Her mother said these were ‘their adventures’.  
Her father didn’t seem to like all the moving around though. Clary had heard her parents arguing as her mother had been packing to head to somewhere new only weeks after they had left their last place. But she had once heard her mother say that all the moving around was because of her job. Clary didn’t know what her mother’s job was but perhaps her father did. And perhaps that was why he always gave in.  
Clary could see him now, asleep on the other bed in the room, black-skinned and handsome, his arm over his eyes. Her father, Luke Garroway.  
‘Okay, so Solaris,’ Jocelyn, tightening her hold on her daughter a little, said, bringing Clary’s attention back to her. ‘Solaris, my little one, was a magical place. A place where magicwielders, nymphs and genies, faeries and pixies, centaurs, harpies and elves, fauns and satyrs, mermaids, griffins and more resided. Solaris was a beautiful place led by the Magisters. Everyone there lived in harmony. There was no jealousy or hatred. There was only happiness and love...’  
Here Jocelyn trailed off.  
‘Is Solaris a real place Mommy?’ Clary enquired innocently, and when Jocelyn, a faraway look on her face, did not respond, ‘Mommy?’  
‘Hmmm?’ Jocelyn said, looking down at her daughter blankly for a moment before registering what she had said and smiling. ‘No. Of course it isn’t. Now come on, time to sleep.’  
And as Jocelyn tucked a lock of Clary’s long red hair behind her ear, Clary’s eyes went to the tattoo on her mother’s neck. Reaching up a small hand, the wrist of which bore a bronze manacle, just as her other wrist did, Clary traced the tattoo with her finger. Black in colour, it coiled its way around an entire part of Jocelyn’s neck. Clary thought it was beautiful.  
‘Good night mom,’ Clary said as she closed her eyes.  
‘Night angel,’ Jocelyn whispered, her own wrists manacled too.  
With a shudder, Clary shook her head of this memory. A lot had changed in the last eleven years. Her father, she had been informed at six years of age, had been mauled to death by a manticore one day when he had been out hunting for food in the woods near the shelter where they had been staying at the time. His death had caused her mother to lose her mind and now she was a patient in the Enfield Insane Asylum and didn’t remember anything of her old life, not even herself. Not even Clary. The doctors said she had been driven mad with grief.  
Not any doctor nor any spell had been able to cure her. And it was because of her mother’s condition that Clary had had to move in with her uncles in their Nottingham apartment. They had been the ones to reveal and prove to her that the world of magic was in fact real. Clary had learnt that the beings in her mother’s story did actually exist. And so did Solaris.  
She had learnt that the manacles her mother had made her wear had been magic stemming manacles, which had prevented her from using her magic for the first few years of her life. Why, she still didn’t know. And neither did her uncles who had been shocked to learn that they had a niece since Jocelyn had cut off all contact with them and all the rest of the family nearly a decade before.  
But when her uncles, appalled that her mother had manacled her, had removed the manacles, Clary had discovered fragments of her magic, making her the fledgling she had been since birth, until she had turned thirteen and become a full fledged magicwielder.  
With a sigh, Clary scanned her surroundings. She was sat in a little greasy spoon in Edwinstowe, the mundane- or non-magical- town outside the magical town, her hometown, of Felkirk. The name Liam’s was emblazoned on a neon sign that hung on the outside of the giant cafe window, the cafe itself situated beneath a sky that was presently dark, the crescent moon within it shining its radiance down upon the world.  
Inside, the lights on the ceiling were blinking, threatening to go out altogether, and the Beatles were faintly emanating out of the speakers overhead. A couple of patrons were sat at one of the tables in the far corner. Behind the counter, the pudgy, balding owner Liam was pouring coffee into the grinder, intending on making another pot. A pimple-faced teenage boy was relaying an order to the chef in the kitchen.  
Apprehensively, Clary sat waiting. Her skin the colour of caramel, a mixture of white and black, her body slender, dainty, her eyes hazel. She had left the party to come see her mundane boyfriend. She hoped he would show up soon so that she could be with him briefly before she returned.  
She wondered if she should have dressed better. But she was comfortable in the shirt and jeans she was wearing and she supposed- or rather hoped- that was what mattered most. She regretted not having brought her sketchpad with her though. She liked to draw and could have  
done it while she waited. Often it was her process of trying to cope with or make sense of whatever that was bothering her. Right then she would have drawn herself and Cory.  
Only one person knew that she had left the party and Felkirk. Her best friend Simon Lewis. If her uncles discovered that she had come to see Cory after they had forbidden it... And today of all days.  
She hoped they weren’t looking for her. There had been enough nocturnalites present on the rooftop that she had gone unnoticed for a while and she hoped that this was still the case. She had asked Simon to create a distraction if it proved necessary. Perhaps by singing a song, had been at Hogwarts. She knew that if her uncles found her missing, they would not be happy.  
Jasper was going to be the angriest she was aware. Jerry wouldn’t be angry; he’d be disappointed, which was just as bad. And she knew they would be well within their rights to react this way. After all the time and money Jerry had spent to make sure this party was top notch, the last thing he or Jasper would want was for one of the guests of honour to go missing.  
Today, the day of her, and her cousin Derrick’s, seventeenth birthday, was a doubly special occasion. Not only was it their birthday, it was also their pre- graduation party, both just excuses for Jerry, an avid party thrower, to throw a party. Clary knew that Jasper and Jerry wanted to celebrate both the birthday and the fact that she and Derrick would soon be graduating with her and Derrick; they had been talking about little else for weeks. She wasn’t going to deny them much longer.  
The sudden sound of the door opening from over her shoulder had Clary turning in her seat. And she saw the one she had been waiting for entering the cafe. Cory. She smiled at the sight of him, butterflies erupting in her stomach, and when he spotted her, he grinned and approached.  
‘Have you been waiting long?’ he asked when he had reached Clary’s table.  
‘No,’ she replied, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear and once he had sat down, ‘but, er, I can’t stay long.’  
‘Oh,’ said Cory, his face falling. ‘I was kinda hoping we could hang out the rest of the night and celebrate your birthday.’  
‘I’d like to,’ Clary said quickly. ‘But I’ve, er, got... sort of a party going on.’  
Cory’s eyebrows rose.  
‘You’re having a party? And you didn’t invite me? You never said anything so I assumed you weren’t having one.’  
Clary hesitated. She hadn’t told him she was having a party before because she wasn’t having one in the mundane world. And him being a mundane, he was unable to see the magical world anyway due to the Sight that separated the worlds. Cory didn’t know that she was a magicwielder and it was against the Codex for her to tell him.  
‘It- it’s complicated,’ Clary stammered in a low voice, conscious of the other people in the diner.  
‘Complicated how?’ Cory asked, sounding both suspicious and intrigued.  
‘I- I can’t say.’  
Feeling slightly uncomfortable, Clary watched him give her a once over before he shrugged.  
‘Whatever,’ he said, a sudden coldness in his voice. ‘Happy birthday I guess.’  
Clary felt his distance, both in tone and demeanour. She hated it. She liked Cory. A lot. And she didn’t want him to not like her anymore. At twenty one old, he was a couple of years older and that had an allure all of its own.  
‘You know,’ Cory said suddenly, bringing Clary out of her thoughts, ‘sometimes I wonder why I ever agreed to go out with you Clary. I mean, no offence but you kinda... freak me out a little.’  
‘I freak you out?’ Clary asked, taken aback and a little hurt.  
‘Well... yeah,’ said Cory, looking not at her but at Liam who had just started up the coffeemaker, resulting in a whirring sound ringing out throughout the cafe. ‘It was kinda exciting at first but- for one thing, you never let me come over and you never make an excuse either. It’s always just a flat out no and an apology. All the guys think it’s weird. No-one even knows where you live...’  
Because, thought Clary, Felkirk is entirely magical and therefore mundanes cannot see it.  
‘... or where you go to school,’ Cory continued. ‘And then there’s how you just show up sometimes. Like the other day, I was waiting for you. You weren’t there and I turn around and there you were, right there in the middle of the parking lot. It was literally like you appeared out of nowhere.’  
Clary swallowed. She had known that casting a teleportation spell to bring her into the mundane world right behind Cory had been a bad idea. Reckless magic Jasper and Jerry would’ve called it. But she hadn’t talked to him in days and she’d been excited to see him.  
‘And it was your idea for us to meet at night here,’ Cory went on, still not looking at her. ‘After that parking lot incident, I was even afraid I’d find you in my bedroom one night.’  
Once thought Clary. Only once had she gone into his house, into his room, and watched him sleep. She had been in the magical world though so he wouldn’t have been able to see her even if he had been awake. It was after she had had a major disagreement with Jasper and Jerry. Hearing from her how she had begun to like like Cory, to her surprise and anger, they had forbidden her from seeing him any longer, afraid she would slip up and reveal to him what she was or what she was about to become. That was the reason Jasper or Jerry wanted her to make friends in the magical world, with those like her, who already knew everything and were going through the same thing themselves. Following the argument, Jasper had sent Clary to her room and she had snuck out and gone to see Cory, only to find him asleep. She had ended up watching him for a few minutes before feeling like a creep and leaving. Not that he would have known she was there even if he had been awake since she had been in the magical world. She hadn’t ever told him about this incident though. But now for him to say she freaked him out...  
‘Look Clary,’ Cory said gently, turning to her. ‘I came here tonight... to call it quits. I- I thought we could have some drinks, some snacks, a few last hours together. But then, it was gonna be over. You’re just too... too peculiar for me. I don’t think we should go out anymore. I’m sorry.’  
And he looked it. Watching him sigh and stand from his chair, she felt her mind race. She thought about what she could say to stop him leaving. If only she could tell him the truth. That magic was the reason for everything about her that he apparently deemed strange. Not that she could blame him, now that she thought about it.  
She watched him walk back across the room, his hands in the pockets of his shorts. He didn’t look back once and she didn’t try and stop him, not knowing what she could say, what excuse she could give. Seconds later the door closed behind him.  
Exhaling a breath as heavy as her heart, she thought the spell teleportus magical worldus. Now in the magical world, she watched Cory walk past the window. His words replayed in her mind and she bit down on her lip. She did really like him but even if she managed to somehow make things okay between them, she would still have to hide the biggest part of herself from him, just as she had done for the six months they had been going out.  
Clary blinked and he was gone. But there was someone else standing on the other side of the glass, staring through it, frowning at her. Dressed in ripped jeans and a faded t-shirt, one of the beanie hats from his vast collection atop his head, Derrick. And he wasn’t alone; Kevin, the Garroways’ scruffy black tabby cat was by his side.  
Clary swallowed as, leaving Kevin outside, Derrick entered the cafe. Prepared herself for the rebuking she was probably going to get, she watched him come and take the chair Cory had vacated moments ago.  
‘Hey,’ she said quietly, meeting his questioning gaze. ‘How’d you find me?’  
‘Followed your scent,’ Derrick replied, just as quietly.  
‘Of course you did.’  
‘You left the party,’ Derrick continued. ‘I asked Simon where you'd gone and he said you wanted to be alone, reckoned you'd show up again when you’d had a breather or two.’  
Her eyes on the table, Clary did not respond and Derrick leaned forward on the table in almost an interrogatory manner.  
‘Simon lied didn’t he?’ he asked. ‘You came to see that mundie boy didn’t you? I picked up his scent when I caught yours. I just saw him leaving too. You know you’re lucky Dad and Jerry don’t know that you never stopped seeing him, that you’ve been dating him or that you left the party for him. I told you you were running a risk a mundie wasn’t worth-’  
‘Well then,’ Clary interrupted glumly, ‘you’ll be glad to know that he dumped me.’  
And before a surprised looking Derrick could respond,  
‘Come on,’ she sighed, getting to her feet, knowing there was no point staying in the cafe now. ‘We should get back to the party.’  
Swallowing down the lump in her throat- because it was never nice to be broken up with- she exited the cafe, Derrick in tow. Once out on the silent street, beneath the orange glow of a streetlamp, she smiled down at Kevin who yowled at her in greeting while Derrick exited Liam’s.  
‘Want a ride?’ Derrick asked her with an attempt at cheerfulness.  
‘... Sure,’ Clary replied with a subdued shrug.  
Derrick nodded and Clary observed as he transformed before her, turning from a magicwielder into an adolescent grey werewolf. More specifically they were crossbreeds; half-werewolves and half-magicwielders, which was why they possessed magic as well as everything werewolf. She envied this about him and Jasper. They were both werewolves. However, Clary was only too aware that theirs wasn’t an easy way of life. She didn’t envy the struggle.  
In thoughts of Cory, Clary climbed onto Derrick’s back and held on as he set off at a pace that wasn’t fast but wasn’t slow either. Down the street, the bright light of the streetlamps flashing past, the moon following them, her hands wrapped in Derrick’s fur, Kevin trotting after them as they made their way back to the party.  
Several thoughts ran through Clary's mind. So much was about to happen for her. She was set to graduate from Hogwarts. Sure she missed Cory. Sure losing him hurt. It hurt a lot. It was her first break-up after all. But he had dumped her. And it was up to him to realise his mistake. She wasn't going to- she was going to try and not to- sit and stew over him any more than she had already done so. Jasper and Jerry had taught her better than that.


	2. The Asylum

Having drifted off into slumber minutes the previous night not long after her head hit her pillow, the next morning, Clary awoke with a gasp, her heart racing. The same dream. Her mother learning of her father’s disappearance and collapsing, screaming in agony, her hands pulling at her hair, as a frightened Clary had watched from the doorway of yet another motel room. Clary remembered how her mother had gone mad with grief, firing spell after spell at objects in the motel room, destroying it. Terrified, Clary had run crying from the room. The motel manager, a dwarf, had stopped her in the hallway. It was only hours afterwards that Clary had been brought to Jasper’s apartment and had been told that her mother was sick and had to go away so that she could get better and her mother’s brothers were her guardians until that happened. Clary was still waiting with for it to happen. She still had hope. Even though she knew that everyone else had pretty much given up.  
After getting dressed, checking her phone and seeing that there were no messages from Cory, she left her room.  
Exhaling a breath that smelt of peppermint toothpaste, she walked down the hallway in the direction of the adequately sized apartment’s main room, which doubled as a living room and a kitchen, Clary exited the hallway and discovered Jerry- his frame smart, his hair tousled, his locks the colour of straw, a cooking apron around his waist- stood at the stove, observing eggs which were cooking themselves in a frying pan upon a lit hob as on the countertop beside him, a floating knife lathered slices of toast with butter that it had got from a tub beside the toaster.  
On one side of the table, Jasper- his short dark blond hair combed back, a light stubble running the length of his jawline- was sat, already in his copper uniform, his hands wrapped around a steaming cup of hot tea on the table before him.  
‘Hey Clary!’ Jerry, having turned from the stove and spotted her in the doorway, said abruptly.  
‘Morning Jer,' Clary, walking further into the room, responded. 'Would you like some help?’  
‘No no,’ Jerry replied with a dismissive wave. ‘You go sit yourself down.’  
‘Okay,’ said Clary with a nod before heading to the table.  
It was as she took a seat that the sound of the front door opening had her glancing up to see Derrick standing on the threshold, a wicker basket in hand.  
‘Ah Derrick!’ Jerry greeted from where he was still making breakfast. ‘All done?’  
Wiping his sneakers on the ‘Welcome’ mat outside the door, Derrick grunted, looking far from happy.  
‘The chickens are fed,' he informed his uncle grumpily. 'I removed the invisibility spell upon them, cleaned their coop and fetched their eggs. Didn’t you know? I live for early morning chores!’  
Jerry, who had been the one to cast the spell upon the creatures up on the roof last night, so that they weren’t a part of the party, smiled as Derrick, to prove his statement about the eggs, held up the basket in his hand, inside which were the eggs he had collected, before he walked over to the countertops and set the basket down upon one of them. Then he came and dropped down heavily onto the chair beside Clary.  
‘Wagwon little sis?’ he said grumpily.  
Glancing over her shoulder, Clary saw Jerry turn to face the table, a tray with four plates of eggs, slices of toast and baked beans hovering in the air before him.  
‘Here we go,' he said as the tray began to float towards the table.  
Once it had landed upon it, Jerry gazed at the plates of food and the next thing Clary knew, the plates were rising into the air. They landed in front of those for which they intended, one in front of Clary, one in front of Derrick, one in front of Jasper and one in front of Jerry’s chair.  
‘Thanks Jer,’ Jasper said to his brother as Jerry sat down.  
In acknowledgement of Jasper’s words, Jerry gave him a warm smile. Many years had passed since Jerry had moved into the apartment. It had been when Derrick had been nearly six years old and his mother, Jasper’s first wife, had left. Jerry had moved in temporarily to help take care of Derrick. And then a couple of months before Derrick and Clary’s sixth birthday, the incident with Clary’s parents had happened and it was on their birthday that Clary had moved in. And temporary had become permanent. Not that anyone minded.  
‘I still can’t believe you’re both going graduating this year,’ Jerry said proudly, smiling at Clary and Derrick before addressing Clary. ‘Your mom is so proud, I know it.’  
‘I want to visit her,’ Clary announced.  
Silence followed these words. Jasper and Jerry swapped an uneasy look. Derrick gave an awkward cough and Clary, who had always gotten this reaction for years when she had mentioned going to see her mother in the asylum, waited expectantly.  
‘Clary,’ Jerry said delicately, facing her. ‘She doesn’t-’  
‘Recognise me?’ Clary, who was tired of hearing the same thing every time, interrupted dryly. ‘I know. But I haven’t given up on her yet. She could still get better. She could still remember-’  
‘Kiddo, we’ve been over this,’ Jasper, putting his fork down as Clary did the same, said quietly. ‘The doctors said that she won’t. It’s about making sure she remains comfortable where she is. And I don’t like you hanging around the asylum.’  
‘Look,’ Clary sighed, ‘I’m going. I had that dream again and that always makes me want to see her, you know that. She’s your guys’ sister and you’ve never gone to see her.’  
‘That’s not fair Clary,’ Jasper said in a warning tone.  
‘But it’s true,’ Clary argued, feeling a lick of annoyance ignite within her. ‘I’m not hungry. Excuse me.’  
And with the gazes of the others upon her, she got up from the table and headed towards her room, not even stopping when they called her back.  
Clary knew what she had said to her uncles wasn’t exactly fair. She understood why they had never gone to the asylum. That house of despair and broken minds. Because they couldn’t stomach the idea of their sister being in there, a shell of what she once was. Actually seeing it for themselves wasn’t something they could even bear to think about. And not wanting Clary to see her mother in that state was why they had prevented her from visiting the asylum for the first few years, despite her protesting. It was when she had gotten older that she had been given permission to see her mother, accompanied the first several times by Meg who had convinced Jasper to let her go, and the last couple of times by her best friend Simon Lewis. However, her uncles had been paying for her treatment and staying in regular communication with the doctors. Just in case a miracle occurred. A miracle that Clary too desperately hoped for.  
Clary had meant what she had said at breakfast. She was going to visit her mother. And that was why later that day she was to be found upon a broomstick in the sunny and windless sky above Felkirk, Simon’s arms wrapped around her waist as he sat behind her. After leaving the table that morning, Clary had gone and called him, asking him to accompany her. He had agreed, as he always had when she had asked him to go with her, despite the fact that the asylum gave him the creeps.  
The traffic lights hanging unsupported in the air changed colour. Stuck in mid-air traffic, Clary glanced at the other brooms around her, some of them flying past, others in the same lane as her, also waiting for the red light to change.  
‘No student fliers around are there?’ Simon, looking around at the airborne brooms, asked nervously from behind Clary. ‘Hope not. For their sakes. And for mine. Your air rage is your biggest flaw Garraway.’  
‘They have to learn don’t they?’ Clary called back. ‘Flying below the speed limit will get you abuse. That’s what Jerry always says. I get it from him you know.’  
‘Oh I know,’ Simon replied as the light changed and the traffic began to move. ‘You know I think there’re mundane help groups out there for road rage. Just substitute road with air and you’re set. Take Jerry with you.’  
‘Thanks,’ Clary said sarcastically, her hands wrapped around the besom of the broom she was flying onward after a blue Ford Focus, ‘but I think I’m good. Oh hold up, the portal.’  
Looking ahead, Clary’s gaze was on the giant purple wormhole whirring silently feet before her. This was a same realm travel portal, the Nottingham one. Broomsticks were going into and coming out of the wormhole in two separate lines.  
‘Got the destination?’ Clary asked.  
‘Yep,’ Simon said.  
Clary nodded and pushed forward on the besom. Thinking of the asylum, since thinking either of the desired destination one wished to get to or the person they wished to find or follow was what the driver had to do to get to where they wanted to go by way of the portal (or else they could end up anywhere in the magical world, in space or even underwater), and what the passenger also had to do otherwise they would be knocked off the broom as it went through the portal and end up anywhere in the magical world, in space or underwater, Clary and brown haired, brown eyed, Simon followed the three seater broom, upon which was a small family, through the wormhole, emerging immediately above Enfield Town, located in North London’s borough of Enfield, their journey having been shortened by hours.  
When they came to the next set of traffic lights, the city of London stretching out below them, the three seater joined the traffic on the right and Clary continued to go straight.  
‘I wonder who they are, what their life story is,’ Simon, craning round to look at the three seater, which was stuck in traffic again, wondered. ‘There’s a couple and a baby on there. I wonder what they are. Magicwielders? Werewolves? Obviously not vamps cos the sun’s out. Interesting...’  
He trailed off, in thought. Clary smiled to herself. That was Simon all over. He was an inquisitive person who wondered about such things that most people wouldn’t bother thinking about.  
‘There it is,’ Clary declared moments later, seeing the asylum feet in front of and below them.  
Throwing out her right hand to indicate to the vehicle behind that she was ducking out of traffic, Clary steered her broom downward towards the asylum’s parking lot. Simon’s grip around her tightened; he always hated take off and descent.  
Passing over the chain link fence, they entered the parking lot, which was vacant of any vehicles. Upon their feet touching the tarmac, Clary and Simon dismounted. As Simon stared up at the tall and wide grey building that was Enfield Lunatic Asylum, Clary, her focus on her broom, clicked her fingers, casting a vanishing spell that had her broom disappearing into thin air. Then she too turned her eyes upon the asylum that did not exist in the mundane world.  
‘You know the first thing I’m going to do when I become a famous musician?’ Simon, pushing his spectacles back up his nose with his finger, said as he and Clary began to walk towards the asylum’s doors. ‘I’m going to have Mayor Snow change the name of this place. Celebrities get to mingle with government officials right? Anyway, the word asylum has such a negative stigma attached to it. So does lunatic come to think of it.’  
Clary did not respond, though she agreed with him. Anxiety was bubbling in the pit of her stomach, making her feel sick. She always had this reaction when she came here.  
‘Course Sera loves these kinds of places doesn’t she?’ Simon, casting a sideways glance at Clary and seeing her nervousness, went on, trying to start up a conversation, which would calm or distract her. ‘Asylums, bloodbanks, hospitals. Cos of the blood tests and blood extractions. The smell attracts vamps-’  
‘Have you spoken to her lately?’ Clary interrupted quietly. ‘Or Aubrey?’  
‘The last time was when the four of us had that group call and you, Aubrey and Sera bored me to death talking about your mundane boyfriend.’  
‘Oh would you rather Aubrey and I listened to you and Sera discuss how the two of you have basically been Quidditch jocks since second year?’ Clary retorted, momentarily forgetting her apprehension.  
‘Yes! Anything but feelings and love and bleurgh!’  
Clary rolled her eyes but then froze. She and Simon had arrived outside the asylum’s doors. Clary hesitated, her heart picking up pace. Every time she had been here before she had found her mother in a different state. Sometimes she was happy, sometimes sad and sometimes confused. But never did she remember.  
‘Hey,’ Simon said softly, seeing Clary’s hesitation and when she met his gaze, her eyes wide with apprehension, ‘I’m right here. Take my hand.’  
He extended it towards her and, staring down at it, she swallowed before taking it. As her fingers intertwined with his, feeling the warmth of his skin, she felt her heartbeat return to normal. He always seemed to have a calming effect on her.  
She allowed him to lead her into the building. The reception was as Clary remembered it. Big, plain and white, it did nothing to make her feel at ease.  
Approaching the reception desk in the centre of the room, Clary and Simon encountered a familiar face. Eileen, an aged reptilian- her skin scales, grey in colour, her eyes slitted- who was one of the receptionists and who Clary had gotten to know a little bit over the years whilst sat in the reception, waiting for the doctor. The only others in the room were also visitors and were sat upon the chairs provided.  
Looking away from the TV in the corner, which was currently doing a report on a bar brawl that had apparently occurred the previous night between some strigois and the Nottingham Pack, and spotting Clary and Simon, Eileen grinned.  
‘Well if it isn’t my favourite couple!’ she said brightly as Clary and Simon reached the desk.  
‘Still just friends Eileen,’ Simon laughed as Clary smiled politely.  
‘Still?!’ Eileen exclaimed, looking from Simon to Clary in exasperation. ‘Come on kids! I keep saying it every time you both come in to give you a push! You two look good together. Call me selfish but I want to see you two as a couple before I breathe my last!’  
‘Don’t talk like that Eileen,’ Simon reprimanded without heat and with a flick of his curls. ‘May you remain on this mortal plain for years to come.’  
‘Still the charmer I see,’ Eileen chuckled before turning to Clary. ‘I’m warning you girlfriend, you should snap this one up before it’s too late. Clary?’  
She frowned, seeing that Clary looked preoccupied and was staring at her feet.  
‘She’s, er, you know,’ Simon said covertly and when Eileen, her gaze still on Clary, gave a sympathetic nod, ‘Could you let Doctor Morgenstern know we’re here?’  
Eileen nodded and reached for the phone as, with a grateful smile, Clary turned and headed over to a set of chairs in the far corner, Simon in tow.  
Together they sat down and waited, staring at the double doors on the other end of the room that led onto Ward A as they waited for the doctor. Doctor Valentine Morgenstern had been Jocelyn’s doctor ever since her mother had first arrived in the asylum. The first time Clary had visited her she had been younger and didn’t know just how sick her mother was. Unsettled by what she had deemed a stranger, Jocelyn had lost control and tried to attack Clary but had been unable to because of her restraints. It hadn’t been a physical attack but Jocelyn hadn’t been employing emotion control, no longer knowing what that was, and her magic would have been unbridled, which could have caused serious harm.  
Clary watched the report on the TV without really watching it. Her thoughts were concerned with the state she would find her mother in today.  
The report on the TV had come to an end before the double doors opened and Doctor Morgenstern walked out from behind them. Middle aged and wearing a white medical coat and a stethoscope around his neck, he was tall, his hair dark, his face pointed.  
‘Clary, Simon,’ he greeted, approaching them as they got to their feet.  
‘Doctor Morgenstern,’ Clary said, shaking the hand he extended to her before he shook Simon’s.  
‘How is she?’ Clary then asked, nervousness plain in her tone.  
‘She’s asleep right now,’ Valentine replied.  
Glancing over at the other visitors in the reception, he beckoned to Clary and Simon and began to lead them towards the wards.  
‘She’s had a tough few days Clary,’ Valentine said in a confidential tone whilst they walked. ‘I’ve tried to try and jog her memory again. Every time she starts to feel a little better, I mention something from her old life and she has no recollection. She doesn’t know what I’m talking about. And she gets angry, thinks I’m trying to confuse her, and she loses control. And then returns to her state of forgetfulness’  
Hearing this, Clary swallowed and swapped a worried look with Simon as Valentine pushed open Ward A’s doors.  
‘But you can take solace in the fact that she’s better than she was when she was first admitted eleven years ago,’ Valentine continued, leading Clary and Simon into the ward. ‘I remain hopeful and you should too.’  
‘Can we see her?’ Clary asked as she and Simon walked after the doctor down the white walled and tiled corridor.  
Valentine inclined his head. The trio passed patient room after patient room until they arrived at Room 14. Stopping outside it, Valentine grabbed the door handle.  
‘Ready?’ he asked Clary.  
She steeled herself and then nodded. Simon placed a hand on Clary’s back as Valentine pushed open the door.  
Upon her mother’s room opening up to her, Clary took in the white walls, the depressing atmosphere, the closed white curtains and, in the middle of the room, the bed upon which lay... her mother.  
Clary’s heart gave a thud. Just as Valentine had said, Jocelyn was asleep. She looked so peaceful thought Clary. Lying there, her eyes closed, her face expressionless. Clary’s eyes went to her mother’s arms, lying upon the sheet covering her body. The sight of the bronze manacles around Jocelyn’s wrists always made Clary angry but she held that anger in because she understood why they were necessary. They stemmed her mother’s magic, ensuring that if she lost control, she couldn’t use magic. But they reminded Clary of the ones her mother had made her wear. And Clary wanted to know why. That was one of the questions she had for her mother. Once she knew why, she believed she could begin to forgive her mother for putting them on her. And for keeping magic from her for the first few years of her life. The reason for that was something else she wanted from her mother. But mostly, she just wanted he mother back.  
‘I’ll wait out here,’ Simon told Clary.  
‘Okay,’ Clary replied, her gaze upon her mother.  
As Simon took a seat on one of the padded benches in the corridor, Clary followed Valentine into her mother’s room. Slowly approaching the bed, she went and lowered herself into the chair beside it.  
‘Alright well I’ll leave you to it,’ Valentine told Clary after glancing over Jocelyn to check her condition and make sure she was still asleep. ‘I have a few things to attend to. I’ll be back shortly. Try talking to her; some say the slumbering can still hear us. Do not wake her. She’s been taking some strong potions so she needs the sleep. You know the deal, if she wakes up by herself, don’t burden her.’  
And he left the room, closing the door behind himself. He had always told Clary not to try too hard to make her mother remember her in case it agitated her.  
For several moments Clary just stared at her mother. Her hair was fanned out over her pillow, her tattoo clearly visible. Clary would have thought sleep was a place where Jocelyn was at complete peace had it not been for the visits where she had witnessed her wake up screaming from possible nightmares.  
‘Hey Mom,’ Clary said softly.  
Reaching out a gentle hand, she took one of her mother’s ones in her own, finding it lifeless yet warm. Neither this nor her greeting solicited a response from Jocelyn.  
‘I’ve got plenty to tell you,’ Clary continued, trying to keep the tears she could feel building at bay. ‘Can you hear me Mom? Doctor Morgenstern thinks that maybe you can. Mom?’  
There came no sign that her mother had even heard her. Jocelyn’s shallow breathing was the only thing Clary could hear in the room that was otherwise eerily silent.  
‘Er,’ Clary said before pausing to consider what on earth she would say next. ‘S-Simon, Derrick and I, we’re, er, we’re graduating soon. Remember you used to tell me about Hogwarts? How much you loved being there? How much I would love being there? And I did and I do. And then after graduation, hopefully onto uni. Time’s just flown by. Oh and, uh, I got dumped by Cory. Can you believe that? Mom?’  
She looked at her mother’s face but Jocelyn did not wake. Her closed eyes did not move in the slightest. Clary gave a sniff and as she did so, the lights went out at the same time that the security camera feed did.


	3. The Shadowhunter

Instantly Clary jumped to her feet. The room was pitch black. She couldn’t see anything, not even her mother. The anxiety she had felt in the waiting room was beginning to wash over her again, mingling in with fear. Her breath bated, glancing around and trying to make out something, simultaneously she endeavoured to focus her racing mind so that she could think straight so that she could use her magic. Her first thought was to summon a light orb. However, just as she had thought this, there came the audible and unmistakeable sound of the door clicking shut, locking her in. And then, as Clary exhaled a low, shaky breath, there came the sound of a rattling growl, altering Clary to the fact that she and her mother weren’t alone anymore. Her first suspicion was forsaken. The rotting smell confirmed this.  
Fear seizing her body, her mind, she backed up into her mother’s bed. Knowing that her magic was going to be unbridled since she wasn’t in control of her emotions, a consequence of terror, Clary raised a trembling hand, trying to think of a spell to hurt whatever else was in the room and was still growling. She knew that one was supposed to have s steady limb when attempting magic or else run the risk of messing up the spell, which could, if one was spelling someone or something, end up harming them. But that was exactly what she wanted to happen. She wanted to harm, to kill, the forsaken. And fire was the only way to do that.  
‘Clary?!’ came Simon’s sudden voice, accompanied by the rattling of the door handle. ‘What’s going on?! Are you okay?! Why’s the door locked?! And what’s that growling... and- and that smell?! Wait, are you in there with a forsaken?!’  
Clary did not respond, did not allow his voice to break her concentration. The fire spell in mind, she listened for the growl, to gauge which part of the room it was coming from. She didn’t want to set the entire room alight. The advantage she had was that forsakens needed light to see properly just as much as she did. She could tell that the forsaken was groping around, trying to find something or preferably someone to bite or gouge.  
Clary took a deep breath and prepared to launch the spell. But before she could do so, there came a slashing sound and the scent of fire permeated her nostrils.  
A guttural screech, a clicking of fingers, audible despite Simon’s voice and the rattling of the door, and then the lights came back on.  
Clary froze at the sight before her. The forsaken- male, grotesque, dressed in rags, its head decapitated from its body, its face disfigured, its skin tinged with grey- lay slain on the ground feet away from her. Its smell was foul, part of its ear and nose missing and its eyes were filled with a milky white substance, obscuring its pupils, though this did not affect its sight. But it wasn’t the forsaken that had startled her most. It was the boy kneeling on one knee beside the forsaken, staring down at it with revulsion. He wore a sleeveless leather jacket, strands of his dirty blond hair, which had escaped the hood over his head, falling out over the silver mask that covered his face. His eyes, visible through the eye sockets, were dark and his outfit was black in colour and was something between the attire of a soldier and an assassin and there was a scabbard around his waist and black fingerless gloves upon his hands. His neck and arms were covered in vampyrs. Just like Clary had learnt the one upon her mother’s neck was a rune. Not a tattoo. A rune. And it was them that gave Shadowhunters their powers.  
However, the most striking thing about the Shadowhunter were the wings on his back, not concealed as faeries could do if they so wished, but in sight. He was a faerie. But he was more than that. She knew it. He was a Shadowhunter. A vigilante group whose cause it was to hunt and kill demons and protect daydwellers, nocturnalites, magicwielders and mundanes from them, a job that was the police’s but that they weren’t always on top of, something that had led to many casualties. Since the Shadowhunters had been around, the issue of demons had been less of one, not that Mayor Snow appreciated this.  
In the Shadowhunter’s hand, Clary noticed, a flaming shotel, which was pointed at the forsaken’s chest and on the hilt of the shotel, she could see a bronze dragon skull, the symbol of the Shadowhunters, a symbol that was also on the faerie’s mask. Behind him, the window was open.  
As Simon called out to her again, Clary met the faerie’s gaze at the same time that he looked at her. She wished she could see his expression but it was hidden behind his mask. Her own expression was reflecting her surprise. This was the first time she had ever encountered a Shadowhunter.  
For several seconds Clary and the faerie stared at each other. Then he stood from the floor. Clary watched as he waved a hand over the forsaken, causing it to vanish before he locked eyes with Clary again. As they stared at each other, the flames surrounding the Shadowhunter’s shotel disappeared.  
‘Clary!’ Simon called. ‘Hang on! I’m going to find Morgenstern!’  
Again Clary said nothing nor did she look away from the faerie who, after a moment, spoke.  
‘That forsaken’ll be back in the underworld soon enough,’ he said, sheathing his shotel, his voice deep and, behind his mask, plainly altered and void of emotion. ‘My sixth kill this week.’  
‘Uh, congrats?’ Clary replied, a little awkwardly. ‘And thanks but I- I had it under control.’  
To her surprise, the faerie chuckled behind his mask.  
‘Sure you did... little red.’  
Clary frowned. Little red? She didn’t even know this guy and he was giving her a nickname?  
‘It’s a mundane kids story,’ the faerie explained, as if Clary needed didn’t already know this. ‘Little Red Riding Hood. And you’ve got red hair.’  
‘Oh!’ Clary responded sarcastically.  
‘Or I can just call you Clary,’ the faerie went on. ‘Like whoever’s on the other side of that door did. Who is that anyway? Your boyfriend perhaps?’  
Clary said nothing but felt her stomach heave. Simon was like her brother.  
‘So, who’s that?’ the faerie, when Clary didn’t answer his other question, asked next, gesturing to Jocelyn in her bed.  
Her eyes widening, Clary spun round. In the surprise of seeing the Shadowhunter, she had forgotten momentarily about her mother. But to her relief, Jocelyn was still as she had been. Asleep and unaffected by the forsaken.  
‘My mom,’ Clary mumbled.  
‘Your mom’s in the loony bin?’ the faerie asked. ‘That’s rough. How far gone is she?’  
Feeling her temper flare, Clary whirled on him. Raising a hand threateningly, she was just about to yell at him when there came the sudden sound of the door handle shaking.  
‘Clary!’ Simon hollered from the other side of the door. ‘I’m here with Morgenstern! Don’t worry! He’ll get the door open!’  
‘I have to go,’ the faerie said instantly.  
And before Clary could say anything, he turned and sprinted towards the window. They were on the ground floor but Clary didn’t think it would have mattered even if they were higher up because the faerie could fly. She observed him as he landed on the concrete outside and then jumped into the air. And then he was gone, having cast, Clary knew, a teleportation spell.  
As she continued to stare at the place where the faerie had disappeared, seconds on, the door was thrown open and Simon and Morgenstern burst into the room.  
‘Clary!’ Simon said with relief, hastening to her while Morgenstern went to Jocelyn.  
‘What happened?’ Morgenstern then asked, addressing Clary.  
‘A- a forsaken,’ Clary responded, falling back against Simon.  
‘What? W-where is it?’ Simon asked nervously, looking around the floor.  
‘Dead,’ Clary said. ‘Well, dead again. Redead?’  
‘You killed it?’  
‘... Yeah,’ Clary said, conscious of Morgenstern, who didn’t look entirely convinced, listening to her while looking around the room for some sign of a forsaken.  
Clary avoided his eye. She had lied about killing the forsaken because the Shadowhunters did not have the best standing. Mayor Snow considered them ‘outlaws’ and wanted them gone, even though they helped keep the city of Nottingham safe. Because they were an unapproved group of civilians who had banded together to tackle the growing demon problem, doing the police’s job for them on a number of instances. Mayor Snow had given the police orders to arrest Shadowhunters if they came across them since they supposedly undermined authorities and despite multiple warnings to cease and desist, had not done so. There were even investigations going on to try and find out who they were. Thus far the Shadowhunters had done a good job of avoiding arrest and Clary was certain that the fact that they wore masks helped with this. When not slaying demons, they could hide in plain sight, and the police had no idea who they were.  
Clary wasn’t sure why but she didn’t want to tell Morgenstern about the Shadowhunter. She thought Morgenstern would go and call the police and she didn’t agree with that or with Mayor Snow wanting rid of the vigilante group. The Shadowhunter hadn’t done anything wrong. He had only helped.  
Leaving her mother was always tough and when Clary and Simon left the asylum, Jocelyn was still asleep and, given the appearance of the forsaken, Clary was even more reluctant to depart.  
‘A Shadowhunter?!’ Simon, to whom Clary had told everything that had occurred between the lights going out in her mother’s room and the locked door opening, exclaimed in a whisper after he and Clary had returned to Terrace Tower, the apartment block in which they lived.  
‘I know,’ Clary said whilst they walked up the stairwell. ‘I was shocked too. But the Shadowhunter’s presence is just between you and me.’  
‘O-okay sure but wow. I wonder how a forsaken got into the room though. The lights didn’t go out in the corridor.’  
‘Weird right? I heard the lock go first after the lights and the camera. Unless it came in through the window, the forsaken had to have been teleported in.’  
‘There’s anti-magic spells all over the asylum though. Remember Eileen mentioned it once? So he couldn’t have been teleported in- wait, you don’t think it was an inside job do you?’  
Clary gulped, considering this.  
‘That makes leaving Mom in there even worse,’ she said. ‘But Valentine said he’ll reinforce the spells himself. At least I know I can trust him. I just don’t know why someone would send a demon into Mum’s room though. Was it after her? Or- or me even?’  
This time it was Simon who gulped.  
Clary did not tell Jasper, Jerry or Derrick about the forsaken or the Shadowhunter. That night at dinner, when they asked her how her visit had gone, she shrugged and told them that it had been fine.  
When the morning of September third finally dawned, one day before Clary, Derrick and Simon’s final exam, which was to be in General Magical Knowledge, Clary, who had spent the night before cramming, and Derrick, stood with Jerry at the end of the hallway in the Garroways’ apartment. The door of the closet was open and Clary was staring at a portal, which was, just like the travel portal, a silently whirring purple wormhole that worked in the same way. The Garroways were one of the only families in Felkirk who had a portal of their own, something that was not well publicised. But house portals were temperamental; sometimes they worked, sometimes they didn’t. On the day that Clary had gone to see her mother, she had opened the closet door and discovered a brick wall there. Today Jerry had opened the door and found the portal in order.  
‘Clary!’  
Hearing the voice she knew to be Simon’s, Clary turned to see him entering the apartment, Sheriff Lewis and Lewis in tow.  
‘Old friend,' Sheriff Lewis said cordially, approaching Jasper who was stood in the main room with Meg and Oliver. ‘I really appreciate you letting Simon use your portal. I didn’t want to miss this but things have been rather hectic at the prison lately for the higher ups. Barely time to breathe! Another busy day today. And Mayor Snow wants progress reports weekly about how close we are to catching those pesky Shadowhunters. In fact, I was supposed to be in a meeting five minutes ago but I got them to delay for half an hour or so. Nothing was going to keep me from seeing off my boy!’  
Dressed in his uniform, Sheriff Lewis clapped Simon on the back proudly, beaming at his son who returned his smile with slight embarrassment.  
‘It’s our pleasure Myles,’ Jasper replied pleasantly. 'No trouble at all.’  
As Jasper and the Sheriff continued to converse, Clary, who had avoided Simon’s eye when his father had mentioned the Shadowhunters, watched him move away from his father’s side and begin to walk towards her. Meeting her gaze, he grinned and she grinned back.  
‘Hey,’ he greeted once he had reached her in the hallway, his eyes shining with excitement. 'So? You nervous or excited?’  
‘Yes and yes,' Clary replied, knowing that the final exam was going to be the hardest of them all.  
‘Right then everyone,' came Jerry’s call, his eyes on his watch. 'I think we’re just about ready for the off.’  
Over the next few moments, while Simon strode back over and bid his father and brother farewell, after hugging Jerry, Clary went and embraced Jasper and Meg, appreciating their wishes of luck, whilst Derrick saluted them and high fived Oliver by lifting Oliver’s small hand and putting it against his own.  
Proceeding to place a kiss on Oliver's cheek to which he replied with a giggle and a grin, Clary then headed over to the couch and scratched Kevin, who was curled up on the couch, perusing a copy of Felines Weekly, a cat periodical, behind the ears, the way he liked.  
‘Clary! Derrick! Simon!’ Jerry hollered as Clary waved goodbye to Sheriff Lewis and Lewis. 'Come, come! Let’s go!’  
Exhaling a deep breath, Clary walked with Simon after Derrick who had already begun to approach the portal.  
‘Got the destination?’ Simon asked.  
‘Yep,’ Clary replied, her gaze on the portal. ‘You first.’  
Simon nodded. Derrick stepped through the portal first. Simon followed and then Clary, thinking of nothing but Hogwarts, walked into the wormhole too.  
Immediately she arrived in a familiar place, the Forbidden Forest that stood at the edge of the Hogwarts grounds. Around her and indeed all around the forest, other seventh year i.e. final year students, including Derrick and Simon, were also gathering themselves, having emerged through their own portals, whether house ones or public ones. At the edge of the forest, menacing looking security guards, who, given their size thought Clary, could have been half troll, were stationed with scrolls in hand, ready to only allow those who were students at the school through.  
Looking ahead, past the guards, Clary stared out of the forest and at the ancient castle that was Hogwarts. Clary had fallen in love with the school the first time she had seen it. A sudden scream, excited in pitch, from over her shoulder had Clary giving a start. She- and Simon too- spun around only to sigh wearily when they saw a dark haired, petite girl hastening towards them, not even stumbling in her high heeled boots, which wasn’t surprising given that she had mostly worn only heels since she was thirteen and so had had plenty of experience. Aubrey.  
‘Hey guys!’ she said as she neared.  
‘Hey Aubrey,’ Clary replied with a smile, opening her arms.  
Aubrey grinned and hastened into her embrace. Then she turned her grin upon Simon. He offered her his hand but she scoffed and pulled him into a hug. Clary and Simon had been friends with Aubrey since the first week of their first year at the school.  
‘Oh it’s good to be back,’ Aubrey, once she had released Simon, said with a sigh, looking up at the school, ‘even if it is for one last term.’  
‘Parting shall be such sorrow,’ Simon said, shaking his head grimly.  
Clary and Aubrey swapped an amused look.  
‘So,’ Aubrey said as the trio began to approach the security guards. ‘I talked to Sera before I portaled. She’ll be here as soon as the sun sets. I tell you, I wouldn’t become a vampyr if you paid me. Or rather, if you gave me the choice.’  
‘Aren’t you going out with that Scottish vamp, Scott?’ Simon asked.  
‘Urgh not anymore,’ Aubrey replied dismissively. ‘We were just too different. For one thing, I like my blood inside me. He kept wanting to take it outta me. We’d only been on like five dates! I’m telling you, I’m done with nocturnalites. Either they can’t go out at night without going crazy or they can only go out at night if they don’t want to turn to dust. I don’t want to worry about such things. I’m so over it-’  
She broke off. Seeing that her attention had been caught by something, Clary followed her gaze and saw Aubrey’s ex boyfriend Rupert- thin with inky black hair, a mundaneborn (a magicwielder with mundane parents)- approaching the guards. Clary knew that they were still in love with each other; Aubrey had told her so and Rupert had told Simon. But Aubrey had broken up with Rupert last year after he had proposed to her, wanting a long engagement which would last until the two of them were eighteen years old. She had felt they were too young to make such a big commitment but Rupert had wanted something more serious. This had created a rift in their relationship, altering it into something awkward, which had led to Aubrey ending it.  
Clary, Simon and Aubrey (hiding behind Simon’s tall frame to avoid Rupert) passed by the security guards with no issues after telling him their names, had then appeared on the scroll in the guards' hand, confirming that they were indeed students at the school.  
Together the trio began to make their way up to the school. Clary smiled, looking ahead at the open entrance doors. Provided everything went according to plan, after she left, she would be back only a few years later. That was her plan, her future which seemed to be in order. She couldn’t wait for it to begin.


	4. The Final Exam

The rest of the day passed with nothing more eventful happening than Clary, Simon and Aubrey unpacking in their dormitories, which Clary and Aubrey, along with Sera, shared while Simon roomed with Rupert, having dinner, doing more revision in the Hufflepuff common room, greeting Sera when she portaled that night and watching Sera tape up yet another picture of Niall Horan to the inside of the coffin she slept in.  
The next morning, Clary forewent breakfast, her stomach in knots. It was only a couple of hours later that the time for her exam arrived.  
As she entered the Great Hall, she was surprised to find the floor of the room resembling a chutes and ladders boarding game with squares running up and along the edges of it, and that the four long house tables and staff table were nowhere to be seen.  
On the threshold of the hall, Clary found herself upon the start square. In the centre of the floor, two of her old professors were stood. One of them was her former (since lessons were done with) Potions professor, Professor Snape, a trusted employee- though Clary often wondered if this trust was misguided- of Sir Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts.  
The other professor in the hall was a magicwielder by the name of Professor Lupin. She was Clary’s former Defence Against the Dark Arts professor and was a lot friendlier than Snape.  
Snape and Lupin were stood feet apart in the hall. It was no secret that they disliked each other and had done even in their own days at the school. The thing that worried Clary was that Snape had only ever shown her- and everyone except his handpicked favourites- harshness. And then there was the fact that Snape had never liked Clary because Clary was related to Derrick and Snape really did not like Derrick. Clary hoped Snape would be fair.  
‘Miss Garraway,’ Snape called in his usual stern voice. ‘This is your General Magical Knowledge exam. We will ask you a series of questions. Each time you answer correctly, you answer correctly, you shall move forward one square or more. Otherwise you shall remain where you are. You will learn your result in due course when you receive you other results. Is that understood?’  
Slowly Clary nodded, apprehension settling into her mind, trying to distract her from all the revision she had done and everything she had learnt over the last few years.  
‘Question one,’ Snape then said. ‘What are fledglings?’  
‘All- all those born with magical blood,’ Clary began, trying to remember her notes for the proper explanation, ‘whether they know it or they’re mundaneborn, are fledglings until they turn thirteen and become magicwielders. Fledglings have less power and can do little acts of magic but the moment they turn thirteen their real magic starts to come in. That’s why we start magical school at thirteen, so that we learn to control the magic as it shows itself.’  
She looked to the professors but while Lupin was smiling, Snape’s eyes were narrowed.  
‘Answer only what is asked!’ he snapped. ‘Remain on your square for your arrogance!’  
Clary swallowed. She had assumed bonus information would have made her go further on the board but now that she thought about it she should have known better since she had spent four years in Snape’s class and knew that Snape was not the sort to be impressed by answers she had not sought.  
‘Question two,’ Lupin, with a disapproving look at Snape, said. ‘Tell me about the Sight. As much as you wish to.’  
‘The Sight,’ said Clary, a look of concentration upon her face. ‘The Sight is the reason why mundanes- people and animals- cannot see nor hear anyone or anything within the magical world. It’s the reason why when a magicwielder from the mundane world enters the magical world, all memory of them is forgotten in the mundane world. But when they return to the mundane world, it is forgotten that they were forgotten and life goes on as normal, as if the magicwielder never left the mundane world. Because as far as the mundane know, they never did.  
‘The magical world exists within the mundane one. But mundanes cannot see or hear the magical world or anything or anyone that exists within it because of the Sight.  
‘Magicwielders however, can see and hear the mundanes and their world even when in the magical world. They can enter it, interact with it. Say if I was in the magical world for example, in the home of a mundane, and I was to leave a room via a door in the house, a mundane would not see me open the door if I was in the magical world cos the door is a mundane item. To the mundane it would be like the door is still closed. It is the same with any mundane item that a magic wielder touches, holds or use, such as an apple that a magic wielder takes from a bowl and eats in the home of a mundane. To the mundane the apple will still be in the bowl, lifeless and unmoving. Even if you were to touch a mundane while in the magical world, they would not feel it. A building in the magical world is unseen in the mundane world. Those born in the mundane world are disadvantaged because they are denied the magical world during the first part of their life.’  
Clary knew she had answered a lot. She held her breath. Lupin smiled again. Snape’s eyes narrowed again.  
‘More forward four squares,’ Lupin said.  
Inwardly sighing in relief, Clary did so.  
‘Question three,’ Snape then said bitingly. ‘What is concentration to a magic wielder?’  
‘F-for a magicwielder,’ Clary replied, ‘concentration is key since to be able to do magic effectively, whether it’s a spell or something else, focus, careful attention and the ability to centre on nothing but that which you want to achieve is required.  
‘Concentration is crucial. When attempting magic, you can’t lose sight of the result you want to attain. You have to clear your mind of all distractions. If you imagine and will that result clearly enough, you’ll attain it. If you don’t, either you’ll only get part of what you wanted. Or you won’t get anything at all. Or if you start to cast a spell but your focus breaks or wanders, the spell will also break and you’ll have to start again.’  
Snape nodded curtly and told Clary to move forward two squares.  
‘Question four,’ said Lupin. ‘How are spells cast?’  
‘Well to cast most spells,’ Clary replied pensively, ‘you have to raise your hand, stare at that which you are spelling- which, er, which is just a shorter way of casting a spell-, focus on what you want to happen and then either point, click or wave. You just have to concentrate on what you desire. And you gotta remember that your mind is your magic. Your magic is your mind.’  
‘Indeed,’ Lupin nodded. ‘Move forward a square.’  
‘Question five,’ said Snape after Clary had heeded Lupin’s instruction. ‘What is the equation for mutation and unmutation?’  
‘Uh,’ Clary responded, knowing that she always got the equation the wrong way round. ‘W + Y = Z. W is... the thing you wish to mutate. X is... the principal part of the spell, the word ‘mutatus’. Z... is the result you desire i.e. the thing you want W to mutate into.. For instance, mutatus rubber jackalope into live jackalope. To unmutate, replace ‘mutatus’ with ‘reversus’. Yeah!... S-sir.’  
Clary cleared her throat awkwardly. It was clear that her exclamation of delight that she had remembered the equation had not gone appreciated by Snape whose lips had pursed as Lupin gestured for Clary to take another step forward.  
‘Question six,’ said Snape. ‘Argue the statement that for a magic wielder, their body is their tool.’  
Clary licked her lips. She hated oral essay questions.  
‘In, uh, in stories and television programmes, we see magicwielders using wands or some other tool,’ she started. ‘That is fiction. Magicwielders in reality do not use wands. We- and all other magicwielders- use our hands. Because our magic is linked to the energy that pulses through our veins.  
‘Magic, it courses through us, like blood. It’s a living and breathing force that has a link with our body and mind. It understands us and the thoughts running through your head. In fact, some say magicwielders are merely vessels that magic has chosen as its hosts and we are fortunate that it allows us to make use of it.  
‘For magicwielders, their body is their tool. And we have to respect it. Large acts of magic can tire us out. Sleep replenishes magic and so where sleep is important in general, it is doubly as important for a magicwielder. Happiness and other positive emotions, when felt copiously, will enhance your magic whereas when the mind is distracted by emotions of the negative variety such as nerves, worries, desperation, stress, depression or fear, or when one is in poor health- mental or physical-, an impact will be had on their magic and they may not be able to achieve the result they desire. At worst, using magic may be impossible.  
‘And finally question seven,’ Lupin said once Snape had told Clary to move forward another square and she had done so, ‘When does unbridled magic occur?’  
‘The strength of the magic implemented depends on the strength of the emotion,’ Clary replied slowly, remembering what Lupin herself had taught her and her peers their first year. ‘Say you’re feeling angry at a person. And say you decide to use magic while angry, perhaps to take your anger out on them. That one decision to use magic while angry could result in your magic being unbridled, which in turn could lead to serious or even fatal harm being inflicted. It’s not just anger though but other negative emotions such as jealousy, frustration, vexation, resentment, fear, unease, hatred and arguably the worst, revenge.  
‘There are exceptions. Like in a duel you can’t always be expected to maintain composure but, at the best of times, when in an insensible state of mind you have to try and avoid using magic.’  
Lupin inclined his head and then declared the exam over. Clary, her head in a daze, wanted to collapse right there on the square which she was on. She was just glad that all the revising had paid off and she still felt like she had missed something.  
Her final exam over and thinking of the results she would get in a week’s time, Clary contemplated whether to stay at the school or return home. As Simon’s General Magical Knowledge exam was to take place that evening since Snape and Lupin did the testing in blocks, taking time out in between to give themselves breaks from hearing the same answers over and over, Clary decided to wait for him so that they could go back together.  
That evening after dinner, whilst Simon took his exam and Aubrey went to greet an arriving Sera in the forest, Clary remained in her dormitory. Lying on her bed and thinking about her mother, her life, her future, Cory, the forsaken and the Shadowhunter, it wasn’t long before she drifted into asleep. It wasn’t long before the nothingness, the blackness, which was a consequence of sleep changed into a scene.  
Her mother sat sideways upon her bed in the asylum. A demon, a burnt, mutated cyclops, attired in green armour, with a scythe for a hand, had her by her hair, wrenching it back. Her expression was pained, pitiful and confused and there were tears in her eyes. A moment passed. Then the demon, stood behind her, stuck its hand with the scythe on it through Jocelyn’s back and out her front, causing a startled gasp to leave her mouth before he withdrew the scythe and she slumped over, dead.  
The scene faded and the nothingness returned.  
‘Mom!’  
Clary’s yell echoed in the blackness, tearing from her throat.  
Her eyes flew open. Tears were streaming down her face. Her heart was thumping painfully, her head spinning. She tried to breathe but it felt like all the air had gone from her lungs.  
Her only thought being her mother, it took her a moment to realise where she was. And wasn’t. And where she had been last. But now she was no longer in her dormitory, no longer in her bed, no longer lying down. Instead she was stood in front of the Enfield Insane Asylum.  
Bewildered, not least because she was dressed in her pyjamas and a pair of socks, but deciding that she would worry about how she had got to where she was later, Clary darted towards the asylum’s doors, feeling that apprehension she always felt when she came here but also dread and fear.  
It was just a dream... it was just a dream.  
Repeating these words in her head, she burst into the reception and discovered it to be vacant of anyone except Eileen, who was sat behind her desk, filing her nails and casually humming a tune to herself as she watched a broomstick polish advert on the TV.  
Still humming, Eileen, having noticed that someone else had entered the room, turned to see who it was and smiled when she saw Clary.  
‘Twice in one month?’ she said brightly as Clary, wiping away her tears, began to march across the room. ‘Simon not with you this evening- Clary?’  
But Clary ignored her, heading straight for Ward A. Passing through the ward doors, she kept going even when Eileen told her to stop. She knew why; visitors weren’t allowed in the wards unless accompanied by or given permission by medical personnel.  
Picking up her pace, Clary ran towards her mother’s room, still feeling a nauseating mixture of fear and anxiousness. Arriving outside her destination, she threw open the door... and screamed. A dreadful, heart-wrenching sound, full of shock and grief. And the reason was there in front of her. Her mother lying sideways on her bed, face down and surrounded by her own blood, drops of which were falling onto the floor. There was no sign of the demon.  
The world shook. It felt off kilter. Or perhaps that was Clary herself. An anguished sob escaping her, she fell back against the door as Eileen came bustling up the ward.  
‘Clary!’ she reprimanded. ‘That was not very-’  
She broke off, having spotted Jocelyn’s dead body.  
‘M-Merlin,’ she whispered in shock, her face turning the slightest bit green.  
Clary barely heard her. Staring at her mother, she could feel a cold numbness steeling over her. Her mother was dead.  
Everything that happened after that Clary only just processed. Eileen ran back down the ward as fast as her old legs would carry her only to return, moments later with Doctor Morgenstern, who was horrified by what he found. The police were called, including an ashen-faced Jasper who placed his arm around Clary and, when she refused to leave her mother’s room, coaxed her into leaving the room, telling her the cops had work to do. He led her out of the asylum where she was met by the sight of police cruisers and an ambulance, their sirens blaring and lights flashing red and blue beneath a twilit sky, and helped her into the back of his own cruiser before returning to the asylum to begin investigating the death of his sister.  
Clary hadn’t told him about her dream. She hadn’t told anyone. Even in the magical world, she had never heard of someone witnessing a murder in a dream either before, during or after it had happened. Nor had she heard of someone dreaming of a place and waking up there.  
Leaning her head back against the headrest behind her, Clary, still numb inside, closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Her mother had been fine just days ago. Well not fine but alive. And now... she was an orphan. It didn’t make sense. All students in the magical world were taught that demons were created and sent by servants of The Enemy to torture and torment the earth and all those that inhabited it, magical and mundane. But they emerged from rifts in roads, on streets, in public places. Not in patient rooms.  
Clary was sure now that she was correct in what she had said to Simon. That the demon the other day had been teleported into her mother’s room. And she was sure it was the same with this one too. The question was why? And by who?  
It was the sudden sound of the cruiser’s back door opening that had Clary’s eyes opening too. To her surprise, the one who had opened the door was currently in the process of getting into the cruiser. And what was even more surprising was that it was a Shadowhunter, masked and hooded. His wings were not in sight.  
Clary sat rigidly, torn between staying where she was and throwing open the door beside her and fleeing. Her eyes scanned the parking lot and saw that she was the only one in it. Everyone else, all the coppers, were inside the asylum. Surreptitiously she reached for the door handle and it was when she had touched it that-  
‘I’m sorry about your mother,’ the Shadowhunter, having gotten into the cruiser, carefully because of his sheathed shotel, said after he had closed the door behind him and Clary recognised him and his deep, altered, emotionless though at the minute quiet, voice, even before he added, ‘little red.’  
Clary swallowed and released the handle again but said nothing.  
‘I was too late,’ the Shadowhunter continued, still quietly and also regretfully. ‘Both to save your mom and to kill the demon. He disappeared the second I arrived. I saw him go but there was nothing I could do.’  
‘He was wearing green armour,’ Clary mumbled, not looking at the faerie. ‘I don’t know how much damage you would have been able to do.’  
‘Enough to send him back to the underworld and to make the servant who sent him regret doing so-’  
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ Clary interrupted. ‘If the cops see you...’  
‘Yeah because they’ve done a real good job finding us so far,’ the Shadowhunter scoffed. ‘Trust me, the cops are as incompetent as the demons when it comes to doing their job. Sure they get some wins here and there-’  
‘Like the demon got today?’  
The faerie looked at her and this time it was he who said nothing. A pause ensued and then-  
‘Call me White,’ the Shadowhunter said moments later.  
‘What?’ Clary frowned.  
‘Well since this is our second meeting, I figured you might want something to call me.’  
‘And I should call you White? I-I guess it’s better than faerie or Shadowhunter. Why White?’  
‘Codename. Rest of the best colours were taken. And they call you Clary right?’  
Clary frowned again.  
‘How do you know that?’ she asked.  
White shrugged.  
‘You intrigued me little red,’ he replied. ‘So I looked into it. Into you.’  
Feeling awkward, Clary slid a little further along the seat, creating more distance between herself and White.  
‘I’d be creeped out,’ she muttered, her heart heavy, ‘and I am- but... bigger things...’  
She trailed off and sighed. In the silence that followed inside the cruiser, for outside and atop it, the sirens were still blaring, Clary placed her head back on the headrest and looked at White. She couldn’t see his expression because of his mask but from the way he was fidgeting slightly she wondered if the silence was making him uncomfortable.  
She opened her mouth, intending on thanking him for slaying the demon again, when, out of the window on his side, she caught sight of Jasper and Vlad exiting the asylum. Hastily she turned to White.  
‘Go,’ she told him hurriedly.  
White looked at the coppers and then at Clary. He nodded and a moment later he was gone, having self-teleported. Exhaling a breath, Clary fell back in her seat. Jasper and Vlad were now standing out the asylum, looking inside it, plainly waiting for something. A moment later it became clear what they had been waiting for when a couple of healers exited the asylum, pushing a gurney. And upon the gurney was a body bag that plainly had a body within it. A choked sob left Clary’s mouth as she watched the gurney be loaded into the ambulance, which then rose into the air. A small part of her had been hoping that there was something that could be done. But now hopelessness and sorrow stabbed at her like an arrow to the heart.


	5. Cafe 2.0

The funeral of Jocelyn Garraway was a simple family and friends only affair, overseen by Bertram Bearer, the short, elderly moroi undertaker who always wore brown monk robes. It began in the viewing room of Bearer’s Mortuary in which Clary, Jasper, Jerry, Meg, Oliver, Simon, Sherriff Lewis, Oliver and Dina, all dressed in fine black suits and dresses, sat in the pews that ran in rows on either side of the room with a clear aisle in the middle, paid their respects to Jocelyn and said their goodbyes. Jocelyn herself, garbed in a beautiful white dress that Jerry said she would have hated, lay in a casket atop an altar at the front of the room. Inconspicuous by her absence was Henrietta Garraway, Clary’s grandmother and Jocelyn’s mother.  
Only Oliver and Lewis, perhaps too young to feel the heaviness of the situation, had dry eyes. Everyone else did not conceal their tears. Simon held Clary, his arms around her shoulders, as she trembled and sobbed whilst placing a luscious red rose in her mother’s hands, noticing that her mother’s expression was one of peace. Her wound where the scythe had gone through her had been sewn up. She could have been asleep.  
Later, as Bearer watched from within the mortuary given that the sun was out, Jocelyn’s casket, now closed, floated out of the back of the building into the cemetery that stood behind it, Bearer’s hand guiding the casket. Clary and the rest of the Garroways, the Smythes and Dina followed after it, walking along the gravelled path and the grass, passing through the rows of graves. Eventually the casket stopped, hovering above a freshly dug rectangular hole in the ground that had a tombstone behind it which read ‘Jocelyn Garraway. Loving Daughter, Wife and Mother. 1974 – 2017.  
Beside the hole, a young handsome magicwielder, wearing a flat cap and a sleeveless vest, was stood, leaning on a shovel, his head bowed in respect. The pile of dirt next to him made it clear that he was a gravedigger.  
Her tears still falling, Clary felt like her knees were going to give way and that she would be sick. She didn’t think she had ever been more grateful for Simon’s presence than she was right then. His hand clutched hers tightly, ready to catch her if she fell. He wasn’t the strongest guy she knew but he was stronger than her. Strong enough. So she wasn’t sure why the sudden image of White being there, holding her hand instead, occurred to her. But as suddenly as it had occurred, it disappeared.  
As Bearer lowered his hand, the casket began to descend into the hole. Clary turned and placed her head into Simon’s chest, the sound of quiet sobs emanating around her.  
Having been given instructions by Bearer inside the mortuary, when the casket hit ground, on unsteady legs, Clary approached the pile of dirt beside the gravedigger and grabbed a fistful of it.  
‘I love you Mom,’ she whispered before dropping the dirt into the hole, watching it land on the casket.  
Jasper and Jerry did the same and said the same to their sister. And then while the attendees watched sadly, the gravedigger began to fill the hole, his muscles bulging with the effort.  
Once the job was done, after going and paying their respects to their father Harvey Garraway, Clary’s grandfather, who was also buried in the graveyard, Jasper and Jerry, along with everyone else, left the cemetery and headed to the wake that was to take place at their apartment. Everyone else except Clary who remained by her mother’s grave after insisting that the others, including Simon, leave her be.  
Sat on the ground with her legs to the side of her, tear tracks visible on her cheeks, she gazed around the cemetery. Her mother was buried in the shadow of a large oak tree and it was a charming spot. There were more trees standing here and there throughout the space and crickets could be heard chirping upon the branches. Bearer had picked a good place for his business Clary thought.  
‘Oh Mom,’ Clary said, turning back to her mother’s grave, her voice cracking. ‘How is it that I lost you twice?’  
Feeling fresh tears sting her corneas, Clary put her hands to her eyes and wiped them away before they could fall. The sudden sound of gravel crunching behind her, had her turning to see the gravedigger approaching.  
‘Er, Bearer wanted me to tell you that he’s closing early today,’ he said.  
Clary nodded and got to her feet.  
‘Bye Mom,’ she whispered, looking at her mother’s grave.  
Clearing her throat, she moved away from the grave and onto the path. As she began to walk up it, the gravedigger walked alongside her. In silence they went, the sounds of the crickets and the gravel moving beneath their shoes, the only noise around them.  
‘Strange isn’t it?’ the gravedigger said abruptly, bringing Clary’s attention to him. ‘How there’s more peace walking amongst the dead than there is the living?’  
‘Hmmm,’ Clary murmured, suddenly feeling the tiredness that had been trying to envelop her all day.  
‘Hey, er,’ the magicwielder said next, reaching up a hand and rubbing the back of his neck. ’I’m, uh, I’m sorry for your loss.’  
Clary cast a sideways glance at him. She saw that he didn’t look any older than her. His hair was golden blond and there was light peach fuzz upon his face. He was attractive with a thin but muscular body but the realisation that he was way out of her league did nothing to raise her spirits, which were understandably at rock bottom.  
‘Thanks,’ she said quietly, glancing away from him and at the path up which they were still walking.  
When Clary had asked the others to leave, Jerry had worried that, given her state, she would not be able to concentrate enough to teleport herself back to the apartment. As it turned out, he was correct. Standing outside the mortuary after leaving the graveyard and the magicwielder, she stood on the street, trying to cast a teleportation spell, the range of which was always confined to no more than a single town. However, every attempt at the spell failed. Her grief was clouding her mind too much and she couldn’t push through it.  
Exhaling in exasperation, she started to saunter down the street. It was when she had turned the corner that a broomstick pulled up beside her. Looking over, she saw the gravedigger, no longer dressed in his work attire but a t-shirt and jeans, his dark blond hair tousled and visible now that he wasn’t wearing a cap, sat astride the broom, which was hovering a foot or so above the road. Clary met the magicwielder’s gaze, his expression making it clear that there was a question on his lips.  
‘Can I give you a lift?’ he asked in a nonchalant tone.  
‘Uh I’m fine thanks,’ Clary, a little taken aback by the request, replied.  
With this, she resumed walking, aware of the magicwielder staring after her. Sure he had seemed nice enough in the cemetery but he was still a stranger. And stranger danger was one of the first things her uncles had ever taught her. Plus she didn’t even know this magicwielder’s name.  
Continuing on her way, she had only taken a few steps before the magicwielder flew after her, quickly catching up with her again.  
‘Where are you headed?’ he asked.  
‘Degling,’ Clary replied without stopping, giving him the name of the borough of Felkirk in which she lived.  
‘Whoa. That’s all the other way on the other side of town.’  
‘I’ll get there.’  
‘What’s the matter?’ the magicwielder, raising an eyebrow asked, keeping in pace on his broom with Clary. ‘Do you have trust issues little- girl?’  
Clary frowned at him.  
‘Little girl? If I wasn’t weirded out before, I am now. Why are you even trying to help me? I don’t know you. Is this how you get girls? Or are you just trying to be a good Samaritan?’  
‘Okay look,’ the magicwielder sighed, holding up his hands as if to say I’ve got no agenda, ‘I have no issue flying off and leaving you here. But the sun will soon set. And it’ll take you a while to walk to Degling. After the sun goes down, do you really want to take the chance of getting abducted by a strigoi wanting a blood slave? Especially since your magic doesn’t seem to be working. I-I wasn’t spying on you! I just happened to see you struggling when I left the mortuary!’  
His rash explanation was a result of Clary coming to an abrupt stop and glaring at him when he had spoken about her magic. The magicwielder sighed again.  
‘How about this?’ he said. ‘I swear by the Magisters that I won’t kidnap you. I’ll deliver you to where you want to go and then will be on my way. Oh and my name is Wayland, if that helps.’  
Surprised, Clary considered this. In the magical world it was known that when you swore by the Magisters, the first magicwielders, you made the ultimate oath, the Magisters Oath. It bound you to the one you had promised until such a time that your oath was fulfilled. In the cases of lifelong oaths, they broke only when the one whom you made the promise to died. If the oath was broken, you were given a terrible punishment, varying in severity depending on how big the promise was. It was a major risk to take if you were lying. But given the fact that he had taken it and his earnest expression, she was willing to believe him. And then there was the fact that she didn’t want to run into any strigoi on a good night, when her magic was working properly. So she definitely didn’t want to encounter one tonight.  
‘Alright,’ she said and she moved forward and got onto the broom behind him.  
‘Hold on,’ he warned.  
She hesitated. Not only was Wayland still a stranger but she was very aware of his attractiveness and the idea of putting her arms around him made her neck flush. Swallowing, she put her arms around his waist, feeling the hard muscles of his chest beneath his t-shirt as he took off.  
High above her, she could see broomsticks flying left and right but Wayland did not fly up to join them, probably not wanting to get caught in the traffic. He stuck to soaring closer to the ground, along the roads, as other, though fewer, brooms did too. The traffic lights down here were the same as mundane ones, located on street corners.  
Several minutes into their ride, the wind chilly enough as the broom flew through it that she wished she had brought a jacket, Clary realised that riding with Wayland was nothing like riding with Simon. It was a lot quieter and more boring since neither he nor she spoke. She had no intention to engage him in conversation though. Watching the familiar buildings pass by and the few pedestrians on the streets, she was eager for Terrace Tower to come into view, not least so that she could find something to distract her from thoughts of the mother she had just left six feet under ground.  
Despite the fact that she didn’t think anyone would dare be foolish enough to break a Magisters Oath, Clary was nevertheless relieved when Degling came into view. Once in the borough she proceeded to navigate the way to Terrace Tower, telling Wayland which way to go, until eventually the broomstick pulled up outside the apartment block.  
Somewhat awkwardly, Clary released her hold upon Wayland and dismounted.  
‘Thanks,’ she murmured without looking at him.  
‘You’re welcome,’ he said with a smirk, as if saying I told you so.  
Clary returned him an uneasy smile, fully conscious of the way Wayland had yet to look away from her or to stop smirking.  
‘Well, er, I should...’ Clary said after a moment, gesturing towards the block behind her with her thumb. ‘It’s- it’s Mom’s wake. Er, but thanks again.’  
Wayland nodded and then unexpectedly winked. Clary’s eyes widened a little as he turned away and focused on the road ahead. The next thing she knew, he was flying down it.  
She watched him go until he had turned a corner and disappeared from sight before releasing a breath that she didn’t realise she had been holding.  
The voices of the people at her mother’s wake reached Clary’s ears when she arrived in the carpeted corridor that contained her apartment and the closer she got to her home, the louder the voices became. She could tell that people were talking in sombre tones, which she supposed was understandable. But she didn’t want to hear those familiar voices talking like that. Sombre. Full of pity.  
It was with reluctance that she wrapped a hand around the handle of her apartment’s front door. Steeling herself, she then gently pushed the door open and the voices washed over her.  
Clary’s eyes swept over the main room. Jasper, Jerry, Meg, Dina, Clarice and the Smythes were stood conversing in groups of twos and threes around the space, drinks in hand. Vlad, Doctor Morgenstern and Eileen were there too. Most of these people hadn’t even known Jocelyn. Clary knew that they were there to show moral support for the people they did know. Vlad, having teleported into the corridor outside the apartment since the sun had not yet gone down and the apartment itself had anti-magic spells upon it, was there for his partner Jasper. Dina- tall, green-eyed and a nimble looking being who resembled both a magicwielder and a plant with smooth green skin and short hair made of leaves- was there for Jerry, her dress made of leaves, her green feet bare. She and Jerry had been together for almost five years, despite the prejudice they faced since many, unenlightened as Clary called them, daydwellers and nocturnalites still frowned upon inter-kind relationships. That, mundaneborns, crossbreeds (half-nocturnalite and half-daydweller), and, in the case of the elitists, any birth status other than pure, were all frowned upon. And Clary could understand none of it. It was the twenty-first century after all. In fact the only kind of mixed breeds that didn’t face prejudice in the magical world, other than from the elitists, were the hybrids (those that were a mixture of kinds within their own kind i.e. an offspring of a werewolf and a faerie, two daydwellers).  
Meg hadn’t known Jocelyn either but was there for her family, Clarice was there for Derrick and the Smythes were there for their friends. Looking around the room, Clary’s eyes fell upon the buffet of finger foods that Meg and Jerry had organised. The curtains were drawn, mostly for Vlad’s benefit Clary thought as the sun had only just begun to set. There was so much blackness in the room. The outfits, the shadows in the corners, her own spirit. And the unmistakable sadness could not be denied. Even Kevin, perhaps sensing the grimness in the room, was staring morosely into his food bowl, which was full, and yowling gloomily. There was one part of the room that Clary was avoiding looking at though. The table in the far corner that held a vase of ghost orchids, a burning candle and a photograph in which her mother, several years younger, the last time her uncles had seen her prior to Jocelyn being admitted to the asylum, was smiling.  
Closing the door behind her, Clary swallowed, the task made difficult when she discovered her throat dry, like sandpaper. When she turned around, Jasper and Jerry were staring at her with concerned expressions from across the room and Simon was heading over to her. However, before he reached her, there came the sudden sound of a baby wailing.  
‘That’s Oliver,’ Meg said, moving away from the TV where she was standing with Dina and Eileen.  
‘I’ll go,’ Clary said quickly, causing Meg to halt.  
Once Meg had nodded, Clary headed towards the hallway, Simon following after her. Clary said nothing to him but his footsteps behind hers were as comforting as they always had been.  
The instant that Clary pushed open the door of Oliver’s nursery, a brightly coloured nursery full of toys, she discovered a sobbing Oliver standing up in his crib, blotchy red marks upon his cheeks and big fat tears rolling down them.  
‘Oh Ollie,’ Clary said softly, entering the room.  
As she approached the crib, Simon walked in behind her and closed the door. Seeing Clary approaching, Oliver, looking tired, gave a sniff and stopped crying and when Clary reached his crib, he held up his arms, asking to be picked up. She obliged, taking him in her arms. As she held him close to her chest, he buried his small head into her shoulder, his hands curled into tiny fists at his sides where usually they would have at least tried to seize some part of her. Clearly he had woken from his nap, found himself alone and gotten scared.  
‘Yucky,’ Oliver mumbled sleepily as Clary began to walk back and forth, rock him gently, her hand on his back.  
Simon, who had taken a seat on Oliver’s toy box, snorted.  
‘Yucky,’ he grinned, ‘gets me every time.’  
‘I wish I was as amused,’ Clary said dryly, scowling at him. ‘I could use a laugh today.’  
Simon let the grin fall from his face, reminding her of when Cory had done the same thing after she had told him she wouldn’t be staying long in the cafe. Moments before he had dumped her. At least she didn’t have to worry about that with Simon.  
‘How are you holding up?’ Simon asked her quietly after a moment, leaning his head back against the wall behind the toy box.  
Clary shrugged before looking down at Oliver whose eyes were drooping shut but were not yet closed.  
‘It just doesn’t seem fair,’ she murmured. ‘Nothing that happened to Mom seems fair. And now’s she’s... gone. Gone gone this time.’  
‘Yeah,’ Simon sighed. ‘It sucks. But hey Clary, I want you to know...’  
‘I know,’ Clary said when he trailed off. ‘Thanks.’  
He smiled, not in the pitiful, sympathetic way that she had been getting every other hour and that she had hated getting, but in the reassuring way that she had once smiled at him. And from the look on his face, she knew he was repeating to her some of what she had once said to him. When they had been fourteen years old and they had been in a similar situation to this. His mother had just died from breast cancer and it had been her funeral. Dressed in their formalwear, they had been sat side by side out in the stairwell. She had taken his hand in her own and said,  
‘I know things are so messed up right now and it feels like they’ll never make sense again. But I want you to know that I’m here for you and that I love you. So when you’re ready, let me be the ray to break through your storm.’  
It wasn’t long after this that Simon left the nursery as Clary continued to bounce Oliver and it was only a few minutes more until Oliver fell asleep. Placing him gently back into his crib, Clary laid his blanket over him. Then she looked up at the mobile above the crib, took a deep breath, trying to focus, and pointed a finger at the mobile, a single thought in her mind. It worked. The mobile began to slowly turn, playing a soft lullaby.  
Clary bent down into a crouching position, holding onto the bars of the crib and stared at Oliver’s slumbering form through them. He slept with his hand open beside his head, his lips partly open, soft breaths escaping his mouth. So innocent. So unaware.  
As Clary continued to stare at the infant, now there was no distraction. Nothing to keep her sadness at bay. And the realisation, which she hadn’t forgotten, hit her hard and all at once. Her mother was dead. The hope that Clary had kept alive in her heart for years that a miracle would occur and that her mother would recover was extinguished, never to be a reality.  
Minutes later, after checking to make sure that Oliver was still asleep, Clary departed from the room. Walking down the hallway, she looked ahead into the main room and saw that many of the attendees had left. Jasper, looking forlorn, was sat on the couch, stroking the head of Kevin who was curled up next to him, looking just as despondent. Jerry was helping Meg clean the buffet table, their expressions despondent.  
‘Hey did anyone see where Derrick went?’ Jasper asked quietly as Clary entered the main room.  
‘He’s gone to Clarice’s,’ Meg replied, carrying over a couple of plates to the sink in the kitchen. ‘Don’t worry Jas, the Oates’ apartment is just one floor below and tonight isn’t supposed to be a full moon night anyway.’  
Jasper said nothing, stilling his hand on Kevin’s head while watching Clary fall down into Jerry’s armchair.  
‘Hey kid,’ Jasper then said to her.  
‘Please don’t ask me how I’m doing,’ Clary sighed.  
‘I wasn’t going to,’ Jasper said, leaning forward. ‘I don’t need to be an empath to know how you’re feeling.’  
‘Be glad you’re not one,’ Jerry interjected from the sink where he had begun to wash the dishes. ‘The sadness is nauseating.’  
‘There was something I wanted to ask you though,’ Jasper, addressing Clary, went on, as if Jerry hadn’t spoken and when she had raised an inquiring eyebrow. ‘Eileen said you showed up at the asylum moments before Jocelyn was... found. Were you going to see her?’  
Clary hesitated, wondering whether or not to share the fact that she had seen her mother’s murder in her dream.  
‘... Yeah,’ Clary, avoiding Jerry’s gaze, murmured, deciding against telling him the truth. ‘My-my final exam was over and I thought I’d go and let her know.’  
‘And... and she was already dead when you got there?’ Jasper asked in a reluctantly interrogative manner.  
‘Is this you taking my statement?’ Clary muttered.  
‘I’d rather do it here than the station. And I wanted to put off doing it until after the funeral. So?’  
‘Yes. My mother was already dead when I entered her room.’  
Her voice shook as she said it. Jasper swallowed and inclined his head.  
‘The investigation is already underway,’ he said next. ‘Doctor Morgenstern said the security camera was out.’  
‘So... could it have been an inside job then, if the camera was off?’ Meg asked, aghast as Clary, who had been too distracted by her mother’s dead body to look at the camera, frowned at this information.  
‘No-one’s jumping to any conclusions at this time,’ Jasper replied in a professional voice. ‘We don’t know who’s responsible at this moment.’  
‘What if- what if a demon’s responsible?’  
At Clary’s words, Jasper, Jerry and Meg all turned to her, both in surprise and question.  
‘Why would you say that?’ Jasper asked Clary. ‘Do you know something?’  
Clary looked at her uncle. Knowing that she wasn’t going to reveal everything, she proceeded to tell him about what had happened the day she had done to see her mother the day after her birthday. About the lights going out, the door locking, the forsaken and the aftermath.  
‘And you were the one to kill it?’ Jasper asked.  
‘... Yes,’ Clary lied, not wanting to disclose the appearance of White because not only did she think it wasn’t useful information but, even though Jasper was family, he was still a cop.  
‘I wonder why Doctor Morgenstern didn’t say anything,’ Jasper said pensively.  
‘Maybe he didn’t think it mattered?’ Clary suggested. ‘Or maybe he didn’t believe me? Simon heard the forsaken from outside and he even went to get Valentine. But by the time they got back, the forsaken was gone and there was no sign of it.’  
A little apprehensively, Clary watched Jasper consider what she had said and then he nodded, accepting that her suggestions could be correct.  
‘But every indoor public and residential place have anti-magic spells on them,’ Jasper then said. ‘I know the asylum for a fact does.’  
‘So... it could have been an inside job?’ Clary asked worriedly, echoing what Simon had said the other day.  
Jasper opened his mouth to speak but then closed it when there came a soft knock on the door. Meg went to answer it, opening it to reveal an airborne courier pixie on the other side. Kevin’s eyes lit up at the sight of it. Momentarily disregarding his grief, he looked the pixie as it was a plaything he wanted to get his hands on. Pixies were the much smaller cousins of faeries, sprites and spriggans, and were less elegant and sparkling, both in demeanour and appearance than the latter and more rougher around the edges, with dark skin and dark hair, both usually purple or navy in colour.  
‘I have a letter for Clarissa Garraway,’ the pixie, once Meg had asked him whom he sought, stated, his voice somewhere between an irritable hum and a sharp buzz.  
As he dug roughly through the small courier bag around his neck, frowning, Clary got to her feet and approached the door. As she reached it, the pixie pulled out an envelope that appeared too small to be a letter from his bag. Clary extended her hand for it and the pixie instructed her to present her palm. She did, turning her hand to the side, and he placed the chit onto her flesh. She looked down at the piece of paper on her palm and a second later it grew to the size of a regular sized- for magicwielders- envelope. Knowing the letter would have been too big for the pixie to carry had it not been shrunken down, Clary closed the door once the pixie had flown off down the corridor, not bothering to return a response when she told him ‘be well’, (which was deemed the politest way of saying goodbye in the magical world, well met being the politest way of saying hello).  
Clary stared at the envelope in her hands, seeing her own address staring back up at her. Without hesitation, she opened the letter up and began to read.  
Would you fancy getting a coffee tomorrow? Say your answer aloud and I’ll know. If it’s yes, I’ll show up at your place tomorrow. P.S. Don’t worry, you know me. W.  
‘Clary?’ Jerry called the instant she finished reading. ‘What is it?’  
‘An invitation to coffee,’ Clary said slowly. ‘For me.’  
‘From?’  
‘Not sure. There’s no name.’  
She read the letter again. Someone had asked her out via a letter. Did they even do that in the old days? And it was apparently someone she knew. But perhaps not well enough to give them her cell number otherwise they would have surely texted her. So perhaps that ruled out Simon. Unless he had sent the letter as a joke.  
Who else did she know whose name began with S? Perhaps Sera wanted to get a coffee and catch up since they had missed each other at Hogwarts given that Clary had rushed out before Sera had gotten to the dorm. Who else could it be?... S... S... S-  
Wayland? Or maybe, White?  
‘Somebody asked you out?’ Jasper said sharply, his paternal instinct kicking in. 'Today? That’s a little inappropriate isn’t it? Let me see that letter. If it doesn’t have a name, I’ll take it down to the station and get the handwriting analysed. We’ll find out who this creep is.’  
He reached out a hand for the letter but Clary held the letter close to her chest.  
‘Eighteen Jas,’ she said, reminding him how old she was and that she didn’t need overprotecting.  
Folding the letter in half, she headed towards the hallway, wondering who ‘S’ could be.  
She was still wondering the same thing when she entered her bedroom, closed the door behind her and went and seated herself on her bed. The fact that the letter could be from a stalker or even someone trying to get revenge on Jasper for arresting them or a family member was not lost on her. But whoever it was from had said they would show up at her apartment if she accepted. So she supposed her uncles would be there if anything untoward happened or someone undesired showed up.  
Licking her lips in thought, she placed the letter on her bedside table and grabbed her cellphone from next to the lamp on the table.  
Disregarding the unopened ‘I’m sorry, your mother died’ texts from Aubrey, Sera and even Rupert, Clary proceeded to text Simon, asking whether or not he had been the one to text her. Laying her head back against her headboard, she waited for his response. It arrived almost immediately. I don’t even like coffee remember?  
So that ruled him out.  
Clary considered the possibility that the letter was from Wayland or White. Letting her mind wonder, she thought about whom she would prefer it to be from. White, who had saved her twice. Or Wayland, who had taken a Magisters Oath to get her to trust him. Either she wouldn’t mind she found herself thinking.  
But then another thought occurred to her. What about Cory?  
Cory who had dumped her. Who had yet to contact her. Who had yet to realise his mistake. Cory who was a serial flirter and who she doubted was crying into his pillow, lamenting the loss of her, even though the idea was an appealing one. She wouldn’t be surprised if he had already gone on a few dates.  
Perhaps Jasper was right. Perhaps it was inappropriate, given that her mother had just died. But she needed the distraction.  
‘Yes,’ she whispered, hoping that it would be Wayland or White who showed up at her door tomorrow.  
As it happened, when Derrick opened the door the following evening after Clary had waited all day for her mystery suitor to show, it was Wayland who was stood on the other side of it. Meg informed Clary of that fact when she entered Clary’s room to tell her that her date had arrived and that it was the gravedigger. She sounded surprised by this but Clary, putting on her denim jacket, simply smiled. She was dressed in a long crop top, a pair of jeans and sneakers and hoped Wayland hadn’t gone too much effort.  
When she arrived in the main room of the apartment with Meg, she found Wayland sat on the couch with Jasper on one side of him and Jerry the other. Both of them had interrogative look upon their faces as they stared at Wayland who looked a little awkward. Clary noticed that he was smartly dressed in a white tunic, a trench coat, beige trousers and dragonskin boots, making her feel underdressed. Derrick was standing against the opposite wall, looking amused.  
When Wayland spotted Clary, he immediately jumped to his feet, appearing relieved. In his hands he held a bouquet of ghost orchids. He smiled a crooked smile at Clary and she smiled back, watching him pull one of the flowers out of the bouquet. Approaching Clary, Jasper and Jerry’s narrowed eyes upon him, Wayland gave her the single flower before turning to Meg, to whom he presented the bouquet.  
‘Ma’am,’ he said with a winning grin.  
To Clary’s surprise, Meg giggled in a way that Clary had never heard before, and faintly blushed. Jasper cleared his throat sharply and Meg stopped giggling at once, looking awkward.  
‘Well you kids have a good time,’ she told Clary and Wayland quickly.  
Clary bit down on her lip to stop herself from laughing.  
‘Have her back by ten,’ Jasper said sternly moments later as Wayland followed Clary out of the apartment. ‘Her curfew is ten!’  
‘Have ‘til eleven,’ Meg whispered to Clary with a wink before closing the door behind the pair.  
In silence, Clary and Wayland walked towards the stairwell. She wondered if he was feeling the slight awkwardness that she was.  
‘I, er, I hope my uncles didn’t bother you too much,’ she said when they had begun to descend the steps.  
‘Nah,’ Wayland replied with a chuckle. ‘They did the proper thing to do in such a situation. They asked me what my intentions were. And I told them.’  
Intrigued, Clary cocked an eyebrow.  
‘And what are your intentions?’ she asked, her tone somewhere between joking and serious.  
‘This is such a weird predicament,’ Wayland said, sounding both amused and disbelieving. ‘I saw you in the graveyard. I’ve never asked out someone I saw in the graveyard. You caught my attention. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt from Bearer, it’s to use the one chance I’ve got and go after what interests me. Before we end up like the ones we ending up burying. And when I say what interests me, I don’t mean anything shady.’  
‘So does Bearer give you life lessons as well as employment?’ Clary asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.  
‘Bertram is kind of a tutor and a father figure mixed into one,’ he said. ‘I told him about you. He was the one who suggested the letter. Said it was better than a text message. I wondered if I should wait a bit before asking you because of, you know, your mother. But he told me you could use some cheering up. He actually suggested I ask you face to face but when I told him no, he told me to write you. He wanted me to put my whole name but I didn’t want to run the risk of being shot down so I got Bearer, whose magic is more advanced than most people’s, to put a spell on the letter that would let me know your answer. The flowers were his idea too. Giving them to an older female member of your family, that was my idea.’  
Clary laughed, thinking it had been a nice touch. A little 1950’s but it was endearing.  
By now they had arrived outside Terrace Tower and were standing in the parking lot. Wayland raised a hand and pointed it at the ground. Immediately where he had pointed, his broomstick appeared. Then he pointed a finger at the broom, casting a flying spell on it. It rose into the air.  
‘Ladies first,’ Wayland said, gesturing to the broom.  
Clary inclined her head in appreciation before stepping forward and mounting the hovering broomstick. Wayland got on after her and once she had placed a hand on his shoulder, he ascended upwards and then pushed forward on the broom, setting off into the twilight.  
‘Where are we going?’ Clary asked after a few minutes of flying over familiar surroundings.  
‘I’ve got a place in mind,’ Wayland said but did not elaborate.  
The slight chill in the air tickled Clary’s face. She had loved flying ever since her first time. Jasper had brought her first toy broom when she had been seven years old. It had been pink and had hovered a little off the ground and had only gone on the one speed, slow. She had flown it so much that she had worn out the flying spell on it. The first time she had ridden a proper broomstick had been in her first year at Hogwarts. There was little else she enjoyed as much as flying.  
Staring down at the town below, Clary tried to figure out where Wayland was taking her. Despite having lived in Felkirk for the past twelve years, she still didn’t know the town in its entirety. When the broomstick came to a stop on the edges of town, it was in a neighbourhood she did not know. The parking lot of the building the broomstick descended in front of she did not know either. The name ‘Cafe 2.0’ was written across the top of the building, which was unfamiliar too.  
‘It’s a coffeebar,’ Wayland explained after he vanished his broom. ‘You leave with a caffeine rush instead of a hangover. Come on.’  
Placing a hand on Clary’s lower back, he guided her forward.  
When Wayland opened the door, chimes rang out from atop it. As he held it open for Clary and she preceded him inside, a foreign perfumed scent, smelling both of flowers and potpourri, invaded her nose, making her wrinkle her nostrils. Clary looked around; the room was dimly lit and decorated in red and gold and Asian design. All in all, it looked like a regular public house. Expect there were beverage machines behind the bar instead of bottles of alcohol. A jukebox in the corner was playing soft oriental music and there were a couple of snooker tables opposite it. At the tables and chairs and the bar, patrons were sat. As Clary gazed around, she saw that they, along with the snooker players and the tenders behind the bar, were all daydwellers. Magicwielders, faeries, reptilians, fauns and satyrs, common elves, brownies, nymphs, leprechauns, little’uns, pixies, sprites and harpies were all sat around the spacious room with beverages in hand. Even Robin Hood and Little John, magicwielders in their own right, were there, playing snooker.  
The door closed behind Wayland and then his hand was back on Clary’s back and he was leading her further into the somewhat noisy tavern. He took her to a vacant table and pulled her chair behind her. And they say chivalry is dead Clary thought as she sat down.  
‘Here,’ he said next, reaching for her coat.  
She allowed him to remove it from her shoulders. Placing it on the back of her chair, he then went and took the chair opposite her, sitting down in it before he smiled at her and nodded his head at the menu in the centre of the table.  
‘They’ve got quite the selection here,’ he said, taking off his own coat. ‘Take a look. Whatever you want.’  
Clary took the menu and scanned it. Most of the items she saw were types of coffee and the rest were other sorts of foreign beverages such as chai and other teas. There was also a variety of coffee cakes listed.  
‘So, see anything you like?’ came Wayland’s voice from the other side of the menu.  
‘Uh, I’ll just have a decaf coffee please,’ Clary replied.  
Wayland nodded and got to his feet.  
‘I’ll be right back,’ he said before heading off towards the bar.  
She watched him go, feeling a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. Butterflies. Something she hadn’t felt since the last time she had been with Cory. Something she wasn’t sure she should be feeling at all since she wasn’t completely over Cory.  
Glancing quickly away from Wayland, Clary stared around the coffeebar. A warmth spread in her heart as she took in the occupants in the room. Some of them winged, more of them not. It truly was a beautiful sight. She really did love magic and its inhabitants.  
Wayland returned to the table minutes later with two cups of coffee in hand.  
‘Here we are,’ he said, passing Clary her cup.  
Sitting back down, he breathed a sigh of contentment that made Clary smile. In unison, they both drank. When they were done, Wayland looked over his shoulder at the snooker tables and then looked back at Clary, a grin spreading across his face.  
‘There’s a table free,’ he said. ‘Wanna play?’  
Clary considered this.  
‘You sure?’ she asked, raising an eyebrow. ‘Jerry used to have a table in the back of his magic shop. He taught me how to play. You’re gonna lose.’  
‘Bearer says there’s no shame in defeat,’ Wayland said, sounding unaffected, unlike Cory, thought Clary, who would have seen the bait as an attack on his masculinity, ‘only a lesson to be learnt. Try and remember that, when I beat you.’  
He smiled in that crooked way again and Clary felt the butterflies stir. Standing from her chair, she gestured for him to lead the way. Looking impressed by her acceptance of his challenge, he headed for the table Robin Hood and Little John had vacated and she followed.  
Once at the table, him on one end, her on the other, as Wayland set up the table, Clary pulled her hair up into a messy ponytail. Then they took a cue each from the pair that had been left on the table.  
‘Ready?’ Wayland asked, the side of his mouth quirked and when Clary nodded, ‘Winner pays for the coffees?’  
‘So your gentlemanly routine just lasts up to paying the check?’ Clary enquired, half joking, half serious.  
‘Nah that’s just to lure you in,’ he replied in a cocky sort of voice, causing Clary to scoff without heat. ‘No magic right?’  
‘Of course not,’ Clary said innocently as Wayland pulled a tuppence out of his pocket. ‘Tails.’  
‘Tails it is,’ Wayland said before flipping the coin and then looking at it. ‘Tails it is.’  
Clary smiled and placed her cue on the table. And the game began.  
One after the other Clary and Wayland began to sink the different coloured balls into the pockets. Ten minutes later, the game was tied and by this time, the game had caught the attention of some of the other patrons in the coffeebar.  
‘Of course the gentlemanly thing to do would be to let the lady win,’ Robin Hood remarked from behind Wayland. ‘However... Marian isn’t here so pish-posh with all that! You win this thing, good sir!’  
‘That’s the plan,’ said Wayland distractedly, planning his next shot.  
Clary wasn’t sure when the game had become a battle of the sexes. Behind Wayland male magicwielders had gathered and behind Clary female ones had. Even Gung Pao, the short aged Chinese magicwielder who, along with his wife, owned the coffeebar was on Wayland’s side.  
‘Beat her!’ he shouted, jumping up and down on the balls of his feet. ‘You beat her!’  
‘Shut up!’ Lei-Ling, his small grey-haired magicwielder wife, yelled at her husband, before addressing Clary. ‘You beat him! Beat him good!’  
Clary swapped an amused look with Wayland. She had a feeling that Lei-Ling was living vicariously through her and, staring at the opposite end of the table, she was seeing, not Wayland, but her husband, wishing she was playing against and beating him. Clary wondered how long they had been married and whether it was natural to want to outdo your significant other after as a way of venting feelings after a certain amount of years. She wished she could ask her own parents. The thought sent a cold shiver down her spine.  
More minutes passed and more balls were sunk, the numbers upon them varying, and the amount of balls continued to decrease. The patrons cheered when the one they were supporting scored and booed when the opposite did and they yelled encouragement.  
Eventually the game was over. The final ball had been sunk. Clary stood triumphant, her smile as cocky as Wayland’s voice had been earlier. Her hand was wrapped around the cue, which she had stood on the ground beside her. The female patrons were cheering and the male ones were grumbling. Wayland however, was grinning at Clary.  
‘Good game magicwielder,’ he said.  
‘Good game,’ Clary echoed, ‘magicwielder.’  
After this, it was only moments before Wayland, as per the condition of losing the game, paid for his and Clary’s coffees. Then Clary, feeling a little tired, put on her coat and Wayland put on his jacket and they left the coffeebar, Clary waving farewell to Lei-Ling and the other females as she walked out the door.  
Setting foot in the parking lot and seeing that night had fallen, as the wind tickled her face again, Clary gazed up at the stars strewn amid the blackness and she found her thoughts drifting to her mother, a sense of guilt pricking at her given that her mother had only died a few days ago and here she was on a date.  
Her mother. Over the years, Clary had wondered why her mother had kept magic from her and yet still told her a little about Solaris, even though her mother had said it wasn’t real. There were things about her mother that just didn’t make sense and sometimes Clary felt the need for answers like a hole in her heart. But they were answers she would never get now.  
‘That was a pretty good time, right?’ Wayland, placing his hands into his pockets, asked, bringing Clary out of thoughts of her mother. ‘But next time-’  
‘Next time?’ Clary interrupted amusedly. ‘I don’t recall saying anything about a next time.’  
Wayland chuckled before focusing. He waved his hand over the ground and in the position he had waved, it appeared on the terrain. His broomstick, which he had just conjured.  
Wayland proceeded to cast a flying spell upon it and once his broom had risen, he and Clary mounted it. Just as the journey to Cafe 2.0 had been quiet, so was the journey back. But Clary was fine with that. Resting her head against Wayland’s back, slowly and a little hesitantly- though to her relief, he did not make any move to pull away-, she relived the night and smiled. Wayland was right. It had been a good time. She wouldn’t mind there being a next time.


	6. The Graveyard

Arriving outside Terrace Tower, it wasn’t long after Clary had awkwardly bidden Wayland ‘be well’, not sure if he had been expecting something more by way of goodbye, not sure if she should have said or done more, that she entered the Garraway’s apartment and found the main room empty. It appeared that everyone had gone to sleep and she couldn’t blame them, given the hour, and she was sure Meg had dragged Jasper to bed, telling him that Clary would be home soon and to trust her, as per usual.  
Heading to bed herself, still feeling the tiredness she had been feeling when on Wayland’s broom, Clary was asleep within minutes. And she had been asleep for a while before a dream formed.  
Beneath the night’s sky, the cemetery of Bearer’s Mortuary was crawling with demons. Mutant ogres with weapons for limbs, and forsakens appeared to be on lookout while a couple of deformed, bald headed demon giants, their shirts torn, chains wrapped around their necks, with shovels for one hand, finished their task. They were digging up a grave. The grave of Jocelyn Garraway. And they were being overseen by a cyclops with a scythe for a hand who wore green armour over his bulky frame.  
‘Hasten!’ the cyclops growled at the giants.  
‘Stop!’  
The word had escaped Clary’s mouth before she could stop it. It had happened again. Again she had witnessed a scene that was actually occurring in her dream and had been transported to the location. In her nightwear.  
Stood a few steps ahead of the wrought iron cemetery gates, barefoot in her sweatpants and a Hello Kitty vest, and having seen the demons digging up her mother, startled and horrified, Clary hadn’t been able to help yelling out. But now she watched all of the lookouts turn to her, snarling and growling. A moment’s pause and then the cyclops also began to turn. Soon he was staring at Clary who felt white hot anger surge up within her as she gazed into the eyes of her mother’s murderer.  
‘Kill,’ the cyclops growled immediately.  
The lookouts heeded his command.  
Clary was aware of them advancing towards her, the forsakens dragging themselves in a frightening manner, the ogres no less frightening, their weaponed limbs pointed at her as behind them the giants continued to dig the grave. Clearly they wanted her mother. Parapsychology at Hogwarts had taught her about how, when magicwielders died, their souls remained in their bodies, which never rotted, in their graves, instead of going automatically to the Underworld, like other kinds did after burial. And their souls could, on the night of the full moon, roam the earth. The only condition was that they could not have contact with the living, including their loved ones. This was the Magisters Oath they had to make to the Reapers after dying and if they broke it, then their punishment was that they would go to the Underworld.  
Removing the bodies of dead magicwielders, separating them from their final resting place meant trapping the souls in their caskets, so that they could not roam the earth. This separation was like ripping a tree from its roots. It was an experience that caused the soul tortuous amounts of pain.  
Clary knew she had to save her mother. Save her from the pain that she would now be in. Somehow. But her eyes were frozen on the cyclops, as if there was no-one in the cemetery except him and her. Anger was thrumming inside her but there was something else mixing in with it. A desire for revenge, the temptation for it building within her like arousal.  
She wasn’t stupid though. She knew she had no chance against these monsters. She wasn’t a fighter. Sure her uncles had made her take some self defence classes when she had been younger but her experience was limited and definitely didn’t extend to fighting demons. She also felt the lack of a weapon like a lack of clothes as if she was standing naked in the graveyard.  
And then she remembered that she was a magicwielder.  
Due to revenge and anger fuelling her, she knew that her magic was going to be unbridled but she didn’t care. She wanted to, needed to, do some serious damage to the lookouts advancing towards her if she wanted to survive this. She had to stop the demons getting to her mother.  
Clary, her heart hammering, held her hand out in front of her, a single thought running through her mind. A lightningball formed in her hand almost immediately, connected and crackling, more dangerously than usual, between her fingertips. Without hesitation, she hurled it at one of the approaching forsakens. It hit true and the forsaken screeched a guttural agonised screech when the lightning struck it, lighting it up. As the forsaken crumbled, not only dead but destroyed, and the cyclops watched on, his abomination plain, the other lookouts cried out a sort of terrible, throaty battle cry that had Clary inwardly cringing, before they picked up their pace and began racing towards her, mowing down tombstone as they went.  
Clary summoned up another lightningball and took out an ogre. But she knew the odds weren’t in her favour. She was massively outnumbered. The lookouts were growling and roaring at her. She took a step back. The lookouts were getting nearer. The giants were still digging. The cyclops began to laugh. As she put out her hand for a lightningball to form into, she endeavoured to ignore the voice in her mind trying to distract her from what she wanted. A voice that was telling her to prepare herself for a mauling.  
But then the cyclops cut off mid-laugh as out of nowhere, one of the ogres was hit in the throat by an arrow, killing it instantly. And the arrow was followed by a throwing dagger that flew through the air and lodged itself into the head of a forsaken, taking it down. Surprised, Clary looked in the direction from where the arrow and the dagger had come and was surprised to see the door of the mortuary open and three Shadowhunters, silver masks over their faces, were making their way out of it. One of them was in front of the other two who were flanking the first. The one flanking on the right, a male, had a bow and arrow in hand, pointed at the lookouts, and a quiver on his back. The one on the left, quite plainly a female, had a utility belt that ran diagonally from her shoulder to her waist, full of daggers. Both of them bore runes. The Shadowhunter at the front had a flaming shotel in hand.  
White Clary thought in relief.  
The instant she thought this, the battle began. Most of the lookouts, furious at the interference, changed route and went after the Shadowhunters instead who ran to meet them, seemingly without hesitation. But some of them still came after Clary. She took another step back, surveying the scene. She and the Shadowhunters were still outnumbered. She watched the Shadowhunters collide with the lookouts. More daggers were thrown. More arrows from the bow and arrow whistled through the night. Both the flanking Shadowhunters wore kakutes upon the knuckles of both their hands which they used to stun the opponents that got too close, allowing them a few seconds of reprieve in which to fire a arrow or throw a dagger.  
As White beheaded an ogre with his shotel, Clary took another step back, hitting the gates behind her, which clanged when she struck them. Staring at the approaching demons, she raised a hand, intending on conjuring another lightningball. Just when it appeared, she almost dropped it. Because a series of growls had just emanated from over the cemetery wall on either side of the gates. Clary’s first thought was that it was more forsakens. But the growls weren’t as guttural as those of the forsaken. They sounded to her more like the growls of... werewolves.  
She was correct. Just when she had thought that it sounded like werewolves, without warning, a number of werewolves jumped over the wall and landed in the cemetery on either side of her.  
Clary froze, the lightningball falling from her hand to the ground where it singed the earth as it disappeared into it. Out of the corners of her eyes, she could see the werewolves standing still, growling and snarling, their chests rising and falling rapidly as they stared down the ogres and the forsakens. Stronger and more vicious than their wolf counterparts, their coats darker, they were foaming at the mouth, a sign of anger, their eyes a feral yellow in colour and slitted like a cat’s or a reptile’s, their fangs as sharp and pearly white as those of a vampyr.  
Clary held her breath, releasing it abruptly when the cyclops let out a roar of fury, probably, Clary thought, because he had not anticipated the arrival of the Shadowhunters or the werewolves. And this spurred the werewolves into action as more rune bearing Shadowhunters came running out of the mortuary, weapons in hand. Snapping their teeth, the werewolves bounded forward and clashed with the demons that had been pursuing Clary, biting and clawing and rearing up onto two legs like werewolves could do.  
Clary observed the scene occurring before her with both awe and horror. Magicwielders and werewolves and demons, back and forth the fighting went. Clary felt her stomach heave when she saw a werewolf tear out a forsaken’s throat while another scratched out the eyes of an ogre. The ogres got hits in too, striking the werewolves with the weapons attached to the ends of their arms. One ogre with a ball and chain struck a werewolf with the ball and sent him skidding across the ground with a pitiful whine.  
The noises of battle, of weapons clashing, of snarls and yells and cries, in the cemetery were strident enough to wake the surrounding dead, the ground paved with the blood of the wounded and the dead.  
Clary swallowed, her gaze finding White who was currently battling two forsakens on his own. But then she looked past him and she saw the giants pulling out her mother’s casket from her grave, the cyclops standing beside the tombstone.  
It was without thought that Clary set off running. Avoiding the fighting, ducking past the combatants, evading the dead bodies of both demons and a couple of werewolves, she raced towards her mother’s grave, feeling the cool blades of grass beneath her bare feet. She didn’t know why the demons wanted her mother and she didn’t know how she was going to stop them but she wasn’t about to let them take her mother without a fight.  
Seeing that the giants had now gotten the casket out, Clary ran faster. Not looking at the ground on which she was going, she was halfway to the grave when she stumbled, almost tripping over her own feet. Gasping, she managed not to fall and righted herself when suddenly she was seized from behind by a forsaken. Its stench made her want to be sick and its growls were in her ear. She struggled in its grasp as it tried to bite her neck. Fully aware that biting meant turning, Clary, challenging her desperation to save her mother and her struggle into ire and motivation, she reared her elbow back and brought it crashing hard into the forsaken’s chest, feeling his ribcage shatter. The forsaken staggered back, and as Clary instinctively whipped round to face it, it roared furiously and then started towards her. But out of nowhere, there came, slicing through the air, a silver boomerang that decapitated the forsaken and also chopped off the weaponed arm of an ogre who was then stabbed in the back by a Shadowhunter as the boomerang made its way back the way it had come.  
Clary caught sight of the boomerang being caught by the Shadowhunter with the throwing daggers. Without a second thought, she spun back round, but what she saw had her freezing. The giants were shouldering her mother’s casket and behind them the cyclops was waving his arms in a circular motion. It would have looked weird to Clary if she didn’t know what he was doing. But she did. And she felt cold dread wash over her. The cyclops was in the midst of opening a hole in the universe, creating a portal and from the way that the air before him was twisting and trembling, like he was controlling it, it was clear that the portal had already begun to form. Portal creation was very difficult magic to do but if the casket went through it, Clary didn’t know if she’d ever see it again.  
Putting out her hand, her heart pounding, once the lightningball, the strongest and most unbridled yet, its crackling giving off sparks, had arrived, as the battle waged on around her, Clary considered her target. The giants or the cyclops.  
Realising that the worst threat was the portal, Clary turned to the cyclops, feeling that desire for revenge return. Despite being feet away, she had a clear path to the cyclops. Lifting the lightningball, she pulled her arm back and threw it with all the force she could muster. On tenterhooks, she watched it tear through the air. The giants saw it coming but the cyclops, who had his back to it, did not. But what happened next, Clary had not predicted.  
One of the giants dropped the back of the casket, which he had been holding, causing it to fall out of the giant’s hold too and to the ground. As the lightningball neared its intention, the first giant dove in front of it, so that the lightningball struck him instead.  
As he screamed in agony and the lightning eviscerated him, the cyclops completed the portal, a purple wormhole that swirled noiselessly before him. As Clary held out a shaking hand, the cyclops cast an unconcerned look at the dead giant before turning to the other giant. Clary’s mind was spinning. She couldn’t think straight. Her magic wouldn’t work if she couldn’t think straight.  
Trying to focus and ignore the still strident sound of the still occurring fight, her face contorted in concentration, she watched the cyclops cast a levitation spell on the casket, causing it to rise into the air. She thought urgently of the lightningball and tried to think of nothing but the lightningball. It didn’t work.  
As the still living giant moved towards the portal, the cyclops cast another spell on the casket, this one making it move through the air instead of hovering in one place. With a finger, the cyclops guided the casket towards him and he himself moved towards the portal.  
Clary flexed her hand, her breaths shallow, ragged, but she didn’t let herself think of her mother going through that portal or of her mother’s killer or of anything but the lightningball. And that was the reason that it appeared.  
As the giant passed through the portal, Clary hurled the lightningball. Leaving her hand, it spun through the air towards the cyclops whose back was to it. It appeared that the lightningball would hit him. But as it neared, the cyclops whipped around, saw it coming and, placing his focus on it, thrust his arm aside, making the lightningball go crashing into the back of a nearby werewolf who had just killed an ogre. As the ogre fell, the dead werewolf fell on top of it.  
Clary gasped. The casket had begun to enter the portal. The cyclops was staring directly at her and before Clary had a chance to even blink, his scythe had left his arm and was heading straight for her. Clary stood rooted to the spot, in disbelief and terror. Both at what the cyclops had just done but the fact that the casket was halfway into the portal. The scythe, glinting dangerously reached Clary, looking like it was going to take her head off. But before it could, unexpectedly White dived in the way and shot it down with his no longer flaming shotel, the sound of metal striking metal resounding throughout the graveyard.  
Seeing this, the cyclops sniffed angrily, his arm ending in a stump now where the scythe had been. Behind him, the casket was almost through the portal.  
‘No!’ Clary cried, rushing forward only for White to throw out an arm, catching her by the waist.  
‘Clary,’ he said, his voice altered, emotionless.  
‘Let me go!’ Clary cried, half yelling, half pleading, seeing the ogre who was glowering at her. ‘White, let me go!’  
If she could get to the portal, if she could get through it before it closed, she would know where her mother had been taken. She could bring her back and return her to her grave, ending her pain. But White did not Clary her go. In fact, his grip tightened.  
‘Get off me!’ Clary shouted, clawing at his arm.  
But he didn’t.  
Clary continued to struggle, even more so when the cyclops turned and faced the portal. She knew that he would close the portal behind him and then she wouldn’t be able to follow or discover where they had gone.  
The cyclops started walking towards the portal. Feeling more and more frantic with each passing second, Clary fought harder against White but to no avail. Around her the battle wound down.  
She watched the cyclops step through the portal. She fought even harder. Around her the battle came to an end. A moment later, the portal vanished and Clary collapsed to the ground, a choked sob escaping her, White releasing her as she fell.


	7. The Institute

A light rain had begun to fall, as if the sky itself was weeping because of the battle that had concluded only moments ago. The demons in the cemetery all lay dead, their bodies scattered in and amongst the graves. But it wasn’t just the demons; a few werewolves had perished too.  
Some of the Shadowhunters, all of them dressed in dark green, stood around the graveyard shouldered their weapons, blood splattered on their outfits. Others were walking around, vanishing the bodies of the demons. The Shadowhunter with the throwing daggers was strolling around the demons too, turning them over with her boot to see if they had her daggers lodged into them. Those that did she cast summoning spells to withdraw the daggers, catching them when they flew up towards her and placing them back into her belt, the rain siphoning the blood off of them.  
Clary was still on her knees on the wet ground, staring in disbelief at the place where the portal had been. She had been so close. And now the cyclops had her mother and she had no idea what he intended to do with her. And it was White’s fault. He had stopped her from getting to the portal. The anger she was feeling was directed at him.  
Around the cemetery, the werewolves were transforming, turning into their magicwielder form. All of them male, shirtless and strong, the rain dripping down their toned abdomens.  
White, standing behind Clary, glanced at her once before turning his attention to the werewolf feet in front of her. The werewolf had transformed into a magicwielder and was on all fours. He was the biggest of them and looked to be middle aged with scraggly black hair and a beard that was just as scraggly. Clary watched him get up from the ground.  
Once he was standing, he looked around the graveyard and grinned in a satisfied manner when he saw the dead bodies of the demons. But when his eyes passed over the bodies of the deceased werewolves, his grin flickered but then returned when he turned his gaze upon Clary.  
‘Quite the night eh little magicwielder?’ he said, his eyes dancing with glee.  
Clary, her hair damp from the rain but not drenched since it wasn’t heavy enough, looked up at him but before she could even think to respond, White was beside her and without warning, he reached out a hand, gripped her arm, not too roughly but not gently either, and hauled her up from the ground. Taken aback, affronted and feeling the wetness of the grass beneath her feet, Clary wrenched her arm from his grasp. The werewolf with the scraggly hair chuckled, like he was entertained.  
‘Reagan,’ White said coolly, facing him as Clary did the same.  
‘Shadowhunter,’ the werewolf called Reagan responded, enunciating the word just as coolly and saying it as if it were two words, not one.  
‘You’re out of bounds alpha. This isn’t the Pack’s territory.’  
Reagan chuckled again.  
‘We smelt demon scum from a mile away,’ he said. ‘Didn’t think we’d let you have all the fun did you? And it appeared that you lot needed all the help you could get.’  
‘Well you’ve had your fun,’ White said dryly. ‘Now leave. Let me know though if you want me to throw a stick for you to chase. I can put a spell on it if you want so you can follow it all the way back to your den.’  
Clary sucked in a breath, thinking that White had gone too far as the other werewolves, looking displeased by this comment, gathered behind their leader in the same moment that the other Shadowhunters grouped together behind White. Animosity between the kinds was an individual choice, apart from in the case of vampyrs and werewolves, who just didn’t like one another.  
As White and a narrow eyed Reagan and the other werewolves, growling softly, and the other Shadowhunters stared each other down, Clary inwardly grimaced, hoping that another battle was not about to begin. She had seen enough bloodshed for one night.  
‘Boys, boys!’ came a familiar voice.  
Clary turned to see Bearer standing in the doorway of the mortuary but she was the only one who turned. Observing Bearer, she watched him raise his hand to the sky, his face etched in concentration, and he waved it back and forth. Moments later, it became clear what he had desired to achieve. The rain stopped. But only in the cemetery. Outside it, it continued to fall. Clary was impressed. Weather manipulation spells were as hard to master as portal creation. But they were limited. It wasn’t possible to alter the weather altogether.  
Clary knew why Bearer had wanted the rain to stop. Vampyrs couldn’t stand the rain as much as they couldn’t stand sunlight.  
Clary watched Bearer hasten out of the mortuary, going as fast as his little legs would carry him. Darting in and out of the rows of graves, eventually he arrived in the middle of White and Reagan, panting heavily.  
Once he had recovered himself, he spoke.  
‘Reagan,’ he said, addressing the alpha. ‘I thank you for yours and your Pack’s assistance. But the threat is quelled for now. You can be on your way.’  
Reagan turned a cocked eyebrow upon Bearer.  
‘Is it not the Shadowhunters you should be asking to leave, what with them being Most Wanted and all... old vamp?’ he asked, making White, angered by what he had called the elderly vampyr, grip the handle of his shotel.  
‘White,’ Bearer said firmly, waiting until White had grudgingly released the handle, before facing Reagan again, ‘The Shadowhunters are not your concern. Now if you would take your leave-’  
‘Look around you,’ Reagan interrupted harshly. ‘Look at the werewolf lives that have been lost here while you have lost none! We want recompense!’  
‘No-one asked you to get involved!’ the Shadowhunter with the throwing daggers, snapped abruptly, her voice altered, emotionless behind her mask, just like White’s, but discernibly female.  
To Clary’s surprise, Reagan laughed and so did several of the other werewolves while the rest just looked menacing.  
‘You have your women fight?’ Reagan asked amusedly. ‘When they should be in the den taking care of the cubs?’  
Clary scoffed. So this sexist was the alpha of the Nottingham Pack?  
The sound of her scoff did not go unheard by Reagan. His eyes dancing again, he turned to her and looked her up and down before meeting her eyes.  
‘You,’ he said. ‘You shall be the recompense. Yes, I’ve been searching for a Beta to marry who will produce the next alpha of this Pack. Besides, I think I shall enjoy turning you.’  
Clary’s eyebrows rose in shock. This werewolf was old enough to be her father and way too old to be hitting on her. However, before she could say anything-  
‘She’s not interested,’ he said firmly.  
Clary scoffed once more and then addressed White.  
‘I can talk for myself you know,’ she told him scornfully. ‘But yeah, you’re right on this one. Sorry alpha.’  
She offered Reagan an apologetic smile, at which his eyes narrowed.  
‘I wasn’t asking,’ he snarled. ‘Women get told, not asked.’  
‘You know, sexism isn’t attractive,’ Clary pointed out. ‘There were witches in the Suffragettes too. You’re kinda pushing that movement back-’  
‘I have chosen you as my mate,’ Reagan interrupted her in a dangerous sort of voice. ‘Have you heard that mundane saying, a dog with a bone?’  
‘Back off dog,’ White warned.  
‘Is that a challenge Shadowhunter?’ Reagan growled. ‘Because if so, I accept.’  
‘Wait,’ Clary, startled by this statement, began, sensing that things were getting out of control.  
‘Then a challenge it is,’ White said lowly, ignoring Clary.  
‘White, stop it,’ Bearer interjected. ‘You are aware what challenging an alpha means.’  
‘A fight to the death,’ said Reagan, elongating the word ‘death’, like he enjoyed the taste of it on his tongue. ‘The magicwielder, the Pack. Winner takes all.’  
‘White, don’t,’ the Shadowhunter with the bow and arrow, tried in a voice that was different to White’s but still altered and emotionless.  
‘When?’ White, disregarding his fellow Shadowhunter, asked Reagan.  
‘The night of the next full moon,’ Reagan replied immediately with a smirk, a smirk that the rest of the Pack mirrored as Clary gulped, Bearer looked from White to Reagan apprehensively and a couple of Shadowhunters gasped, the sounds modified and under different circumstances, Clary would have found the sounds funny.  
Clary knew that fighting a werewolf under a full moon was one of the dumbest things you could do. This whole thing was ludicrous. All she had to do was tell Jasper and he would have Reagan arrested for harassment. And she was about to say so when-  
‘Deal,’ said White steadfastly, extending his hand to Reagan who glanced at it mockingly but did not shake it.  
‘Getty’s Junkyard,’ Reagan snarled as White slowly lowered his hand. ‘That’s where we’ll fight.’  
‘That’s where your den is!’ the Shadowhunter with the bow and arrow protested. ‘At least make it on neutral ground!’  
‘The junkyard or nothing,’ Reagan retorted sharply. ‘And if nothing then the magicwielder is mine-’  
‘The junkyard is fine,’ White cut in.  
‘Then we’ll meet on that night,’ Reagan said before addressing his Pack. ‘Let’s go.’  
‘What of your dead?’ Bearer asked concernedly.  
‘Bury them,’ Reagan said indifferently. ‘Or don’t. They’re of no use to me or the mortal world now.’  
And with this, he turned, dropped to all fours and set off running across the cemetery, the other werewolves following. They were halfway to the gates when they transformed, turning back into their werewolf form. And it was as werewolves that they jumped over the cemetery wall they had come over, landing on the street beyond, landing in the rain. Clary could see them through the gates and she watched them begin to bound down it, howling as they went, with Reagan leading.  
Once they were gone, the majority of the Shadowhunters began to head for some reason towards the mortuary, leaving Clary with White, Bearer and the Shadowhunter with the bow and arrow and the one with the throwing daggers.  
‘Dear oh dear,’ Bearer said grimly, looking round at the state of the graveyard.  
Shaking his head, he then took a moment to focus before raising his hands up and spreading them wide. The spell he cast had the fallen tombstones righting themselves, the bodies of the dead werewolves and the spatters of blood that the rain had not washed away, disappearing.  
As Bearer, his task complete, lowered his hands and Clary opened her mouth to compliment him on his magic, unexpectedly the girl with the throwing daggers smacked White in the chest, which made him, and Clary on his behalf, flinch in surprise.  
‘Red!’ he cried, his attention on the female Shadowhunter.  
‘Are you stupid?!’ the female Shadowhunter called Red demanded. ‘You’re gonna fight the alpha?! On a full moon night?! Just think about that would you? And why? For her? Who even is she?!’  
She thrust a finger accusingly at Clary, like White’s decision was her fault. Feeling her temper flare, Clary glared at her.  
‘Hey I didn’t call for your help tonight!’ she snapped, furious for a moment and then deflating. ‘But, uh, I’m glad you guys showed up. Those were a lot of demons... And now one of them have my mom... and I don’t know why or where they’ve taken her...’  
She trailed off, feeling despondence overcome her at the truth in her words and the magnitude of them. The cyclops could have taken her mother anywhere.  
‘But I believe I can find out,’ said Bearer.  
Clary turned to him, frowning, and discovered that he was gazing across the cemetery. She followed his gaze but wasn’t sure what he was looking at.  
‘The scythe,’ Bearer explained, looking at it still lying feet away where it had landed when White had shot it down to stop it from striking . ‘I can use it to scry and find the cyclops’ location so long as he is still in this world. Find the cyclops-’  
‘And we’ll probably find the casket, or at least be a step closer to finding it,’ the Shadowhunter with the bow and arrow finished.  
‘Yes Navy,’ Bearer nodded. ‘Come.’  
He started towards the scythe and Red and Navy followed. Clary went to walk after them but White grabbed her arm.  
‘Clary,’ he said. ‘Are you angry with me?’  
Clary halted. Given that his mask made his voice emotionless, she couldn’t tell if he had intended for his question to have emotion. Turning to face him, she gently pulled her arm from his grasp and sighed.  
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘I mean, I was. When you stopped me getting to the portal and going after my mother’s casket, I was so angry that I wanted to stab you with your own shotel. But then the whole thing with the alpha... and even though it was the stupidest thing you could have agreed to, I do appreciate it.’  
‘Look,’ White responded. ‘Say you had gotten to the portal and gone through it before it had closed, which may or may not have happened, don’t you think the cyclops would have been ready for you, ready to take you out? Doing things Bearer’s way is the smart choice. I hate to say it but it’s not like your mom’s in any immediate danger is it? She’s already-’  
‘Dead?’ Clary cut across him tersely before giving him an expectant look and when he shrugged slowly, ‘And you started off so well.’  
Irritation upon her features, she span round on her heel and stormed off after Bearer who, along with Red and Navy, was almost at the scythe. She knew that it was possible she had overreacted but the fact that White’s voice had sounded so emotionless when he had spoken about her mother had annoyed her. She didn’t need reminding that her mother was dead, like she could ever forget. It was still raw though. She wondered if it would ever stop being so.  
She knew that the way his voice had sounded wasn’t White’s fault but the shrug he had given instead of the apology she had been expecting, was. And it had increased her annoyance, not ebbed it.  
By the time that Clary neared Bearer, White following after her at an unhurried pace, Navy had already bent down and picked up the scythe, which he proceeded to hand to Bearer who examined it as Clary reached him.  
‘Yes, yes,’ Bearer said, turning the scythe over in his hand. ‘I will scry immediately. The witching hour is an hour past Clarissa-’  
‘I’m staying,’ Clarissa replied firmly, looking Bearer in the eye. ‘I’ll explain to my uncles later if the need arises. Please. Let me stay.’  
‘Absolutely not!’ said Red immediately and indignantly as Bearer adopted a considering expression. ‘We don’t know you! And Shadowhunters do not fraternise with randoms for any longer than it takes to slay the demons bothering them!’  
‘Red,’ Navy said wearily. ‘It’s Bearer’s decision. Simmer down.’  
‘It’s attitudes like that that’ll get us found out!’ Red argued. ‘Bearer, send her on her way!’  
‘Wait a minute!’ Clary snapped. ‘You know, my uncle is a cop and I didn’t dob White in after he showed up at the asylum and took out that forsaken or the time after that when he slid into the cruiser with me-’  
‘Did you hear that?!’ Red cut in furiously. ‘Her uncle is a cop!’  
‘Er hello?! Red or whatever your code is, did you miss the rest of what I said?!’  
‘Stop your bickering,’ came White’s voice from over Clary’s shoulder. ‘I can vouch for her.’  
Clary stiffened. She heard White’s footsteps stop beside her. Was that his way of apologising? She wished the mask didn’t hide emotions, both facial and vocal so that she could tell for sure.  
Bearer met Clary’s gaze again.  
‘I understand your concern and your desire to find your mother,’ he said. ‘But Red is not wrong. White’s word does count but even so, precaution must be taken. This is a strange situation, that much is clear. I’ll allow you to see me scry. However, if you wish to do so, if you wish to stay Clarissa, you must take a Magisters Oath not to reveal to anyone the process, about where it takes place or about anything that happens from this moment on regarding the Shadowhunters.’  
Clary swallowed. As Red folded her arms across her chest, seemingly satisfied by Bearer’s decision, White stepped forward, so that he was beside Clary. She wondered if he was going to protest. But he didn’t. Turning to her, he stared at her, like he was waiting for her answer.   
Clary didn’t have to think thrice though. What was the alternative? She could tell Jasper about the grave robbery and wait for the police to investigate, which would require them going through the proper channels, which could take a day at the most and by then the cyclops could have disappeared with her mother. Or she could agree to take the Oath and hope that the body was found sooner. She didn’t see the problem with doing so; she didn’t plan to reveal to Bearer’s scrying to anyone.  
‘I’ll take the Oath,’ she said and when the others all turned to her, ‘I swear by the Magisters that I won’t tell anyone about Bearer’s scrying, about anything I see him scry, about where it happens or about anything that happens from this moment on regarding the Shadowhunters. ’  
Looking at Bearer, Clary waited on tenterhooks to see if he was content and was relieved when he nodded.  
‘Follow me,’ he told her next.  
With the scythe in hand, he started towards down the gravelled path with Red and Navy. White set off after them and Clary exhaled a breath before following.  
As it was very early morning, the sky was still black. Bearer led Clary and the Shadowhunters to the mortuary. She frowned, wondering where they were going, having seen the other Shadowhunters go in the building earlier. In silence, she trailed after Bearer, Red, White and Navy into and through the mortuary until they entered the viewing room.  
Bearer’s eyes were on the altar at the front of the room. He approached it and the others followed, passing by the pews. When they reached the altar, Bearer focused on it and raised a hand. Then he moved his hand to the side, which resulted in the altar sliding aside and revealing the wooden floor beneath. Gazing at the floor, Bearer’s eyes narrowed in concentration. He raised his hand again.  
‘Open sesame,’ he said, waving his hand over the floor.  
‘Really?’ Clary muttered to Navy, thinking about how generic the phrase was.  
Navy shrugged and Bearer said the phrase twice more, waving his hand over the place where the altar had been. After he had said it the third time, there came a sudden of something unlocking and then Clary watched in awe as the patch of floor over which Bearer had waved, vanished, revealing a rectangular hole in the floor that was dimly lit by an unidentified source, and the start of a narrow flight of stone steps.  
‘The entrance to the Shadowhunters’ institute,’ White announced, looking down at the hole.  
‘Remember your oath Clarissa,’ Bearer warned, giving her a firm expression.  
She inclined her head, staring down at the hole in surprise. Bearer was the first one to descend into the hole. Red and Navy followed, their footsteps audible upon the stone.  
‘After you,’ White told Clary.  
Clary didn’t respond. Licking her lips, she set foot on the top step and then walked slowly down the rest of them. She was aware of White following behind her. But she didn’t look back until she heard a sound of something shifting behind her and glanced back to see that White, one leg on one step, the other on the step above, was stood with his hand pointed at the hole, which was sealing itself. Once it had done so, the viewing room no longer in sight, there came the sound of the entrance locking itself. Afterwards, White turned and resumed descending the steps and Clary did the same.  
Reaching the bottom of the steps, Bearer, Red and Navy continued on, not waiting for Clary and White. When Clary reached the bottom, having stepped down into a stone corridor, the wyrdlights, large glowing stones, on the ceiling and walls, faintly lit up the space, powered by magic, as everything in the magical world was, as opposed to the electricity the mundanes used, she waited for White because she didn’t know where she was going. She was still annoyed at him but mostly she was just agitated about her mother, desperate to get her back and end her pain.  
‘Welcome to the institute,’ White said once he was standing beside Clary. ‘Come on.’  
Walking past her, his shoulder gently brushing hers, he headed down the corridor, at the end of which Bearer, Red and Navy could be seen gathered. They had stopped, waiting for White and Clary to catch up.  
When the group were all together, Bearer faced the wall before him. Lifting his hand, he swept it to the side, causing part of the wall to slide aside, like a sliding door. The room that came into sight had Clary’s eyes widening. It was clearly a bunker, made of stone with a ceiling that slanted inwards and inside it, Shadowhunters, all of them still masked, were milling around. All of them were daydwellers. Faeries, their wings on display, and others. Some of them, cleaning or examining their weapons after the battle they had been in, were sat at the scratched and faded tables and the tattered couches that were placed here and there in the bunker. Some of them were groaning softly, as if in discomfort and stretching their muscles. None of them appeared to be hurt though.  
Clary gazed around the bunker, seeing several bookshelves full of tomes, a kitchen area and rugs made of peryton and jackalope furs scattered around the space. In the middle of the back wall, there was a graffiti drawing of a large masked Shadowhunter stabbing a forsaken with a sword and the words Keep Fighting The Endless Fight written in graffiti beside the image. A sizzling fire burning in trashcans all around the bunker was warming it adequately.  
Bearer preceded Red, White and Navy into the bunker. Some of the Shadowhunters turned to watch them entering. As Red and Navy went their own ways, Bearer beckoned to Clary to follow him with a wave of his hand and she did so and White did too. Bearer crossed the room to a door at the end of the bunker. Passing through it after him once he had waved his hand over the doorknob, causing a click, like a door unlocking, to ring out, Clary found herself in an office full of books and made of wood.  
‘Take a seat,’ Bearer, placing the scythe beneath his arm, told Clary, gesturing to a chair behind the desk in the room.  
As Bearer himself approached a cabinet in the corner, Clary obliged. Settling herself into the chair that had been indicated, she watched White take the chair beside her whilst Bearer rummaged through the cabinet’s drawers.  
‘You’re quite privileged,’ White, leaning closer to Clary, said quietly. ‘Not many people get to see the inside of Bearer’s office.’  
Clary said nothing. To her right, from within one of the drawers, Bearer withdrew a ceremonial metal bowl and a clear amethyst crystal on a chain. Carrying them over, he walked over to his desk, placed the bowl, the crystal and the scythe upon it and then sat down in the chair behind it.  
‘White,’ he said next.  
White nodded and then raised his hands and, whilst Bearer separated the crystal from the bowl, White clicked his fingers. Not looking at him, Clary was unsure why he did this. Until suddenly the candle on the edge of Bearer’s desk, lit up, burning bright and strong. Clary wondered if they had done scryed together before.  
Carefully Bearer pulled the candle towards him before proceeding to cast a levitation spell upon the scythe that had it lifting into the air. Then he cast another spell, one that had the hovering scythe contorting, folding in on itself. Afterwards, his gaze upon the scythe, he clicked his fingers, which had it descending onto the burning candle, causing the scythe to set alight, instantly, something that wouldn’t have been possible were it not for magic. The spell he cast next had the flaming, twisted scythe lowering itself into the ceremonial bowl where it continued to burn and began to melt the metal.  
‘White,’ Bearer said again.  
White responded by clicking his fingers, which had a map materialising out of thin air on Bearer’s desk. His conjuring done, White then sat back in his chair as Bearer reached for the crystal. Taking it in hand, as the fire continued to melt the scythe, Bearer lowered the crystal into the bowl with part of the attached chain hanging over the side.  
The heat from the flames kissed the crystal as they passed, changing its colouring from clear to a hot red. But Bearer didn’t make another move, just observing the flames, until they had melted the scythe completely and it had dissolved into nothingness. At this point, he cast a cooling spell on the crystal, which lightened its red colour slightly, meaning that it had cooled.  
‘A personal object is required for the first part of the scrying process, which we have completed,’ Bearer informed Clary, looking up from the bowl at her. ‘The red colour of the crystal means that it now knows who to search for. It will find the last owner of the scythe.’  
With this, Bearer dropped his gaze to the bowl and, as Clary held her breath, he reached into the bowl and pulled out the crystal carefully by the affixed chain. Then with his chain-free hand, he pushed the bowl away and pulled the map closer to himself. Dangling the crystal above it whilst holding lightly onto the other end of the chain, he began to move the crystal over the map. Leaning forward, Clary saw that the map was one of the world with marked countries. Bearer worked his way from the top of the map down, passing over several different countries.  
‘The map is like a magnet,’ Bearer said as he moved the crystal over France. ‘When I arrive at the correct country the crystal will be pulled to it.’  
‘It’s the old school way of scrying,’ White interjected, placing his hands behind his head. ‘Bearer doesn’t believe in technology. He even uses the fire spell to heat his popcorn cos microwaves are too much of a nuisance. Even though it’s a clear violation of rule number six of The Codex, Thou shall not use magic as a shortcut to life or knowledge.’  
‘Oh pish-tosh,’ said Bearer dismissively without glancing up from the map. ‘Only the Magisters themselves didn’t use that rule- and others- as more of a guideline.’  
White snorted in amusement and Clary didn’t argue. Bearer hadn’t said anything wrong. Even she was guilty of using her magic in ways that could be described as lazy. To do chores when Jasper wasn’t looking since he was an advocate of rule six. She took comfort in the knowledge that she wasn’t as bad as Derrick though. He had a history of adding his own chores onto the piskie’s chores list after Jerry or Meg left out the list for the piskie (shy, subservient beings lest they were provoked, who only came into sight when no-one else was around) to complete.  
The next few minutes passed in silence. It was only when the crystal passed over Northern Ireland that something happened. The crystal began to glow.  
‘The target is close,’ Bearer declared.  
Holding her breath in anticipation, Clary leaned in further. Bearer moved the crystal over the United Kingdom. Scotland. Ireland. England. And it was upon England that the crystal gave a tug.  
The next thing Clary knew, the crystal was forcing Bearer’s hand downward, like the map actually was a magnet. Bearer did not attempt to resist and the point of the crystal landed in the middle of England.  
‘So the cyclops is still in the country,’ White said musingly.  
‘Yeah but where?’ Clary asked worriedly as Bearer lifted the crystal from the map.  
Bearer’s response was to wave his crystal-free hand over the map, the spell causing the countries to be replaced with the cities of England. And the scrying began anew. The crystal passed over the cities and when it dropped, it was on the city of-  
‘London?’ Clary frowned, staring at the place on the map that the crystal had touched.  
She and White leaned closer to the map and as they did so, without warning the map zoomed in on the city and now the London boroughs and districts were shown. And where the crystal was touching was South Kensington.  
‘Now this is where your technology comes in,’ Bearer said, looking at White. ‘It certainly is the less complicated option.’  
White inclined his head and got to his feet. Confused, Clary stood too as Bearer cast a vanishing spell that made the map disappear.  
‘Wait,’ she said. ‘What’s happening?’  
‘We’re going to go find your mom,’ White replied, holding his hand out to Bearer and once Bearer had handed him the scrying crystal, ‘Let’s go.’  
With this, he turned and headed for the door. Still confused, Clary mumbled a ‘thank you’ to Bearer who was moving back towards the cabinet with the ceremonial bowl in hand, before following after White.  
There were less Shadowhunters in the bunker now, though Red and Navy were still present, the two of them conversing in the kitchen with mugs of some beverage in hand. Clary wondered if some of the other Shadowhunters had gone home. His fingers wrapped loosely around the chain and most of it hanging off of his hand, the crystal swinging back and forth like a pendulum, White approached the door opposite Bearer’s office.  
Pushing it open, he entered the room it led into. Clary picked up her speed and entered after him. However, when she registered the room she had just walked into, she froze and her eyes widened. Gazing around, she saw a variety of different coloured (gold, silver, bronze, black, white) weapons (some she recognised, some she didn’t, some modern, some medieval) hanging on metal hooks upon the walls. All of them, Clary noticed, bore the Shadowhunter symbol. There were also shelves in the room with wooden boxes upon them. Whether they contained anything or not, Clary could not see.  
Her eyes travelled to the stone workstation in the centre of the room, which White was approaching. Upon the workstation there was a small pile of weapons that had dents in them and there was someone behind the workstation too Clary noticed. A female. But her back was to Clary and White so Clary couldn’t tell much more about her other than the fact that she had black hair and a spider web tattoo on the back of her neck.  
‘Fawn,’ White called once he had come to a stop behind the workstation.  
The female began to turn around. Clary halted when she saw the sword in the female’s hands. That was the first thing to surprise her. The second was that the female was a faun. Dressed in a steampunk outfit with aviator goggles upon her head, she was around five and a half feet in height and had small horns on either side of her head, the upper, lean body of a young woman with fiery ginger hair and the ears and the lower body of a light, neatly groomed brown deer, complete with the cloven hooves and the tail sticking out the back of her pants.  
‘Hey White!’ the faun called Fawn grinned before looking past him and spotting Clary, gasping and pointing the sword at her, ‘Outsider!’  
‘Fawn,’ White chuckled as a startled Clary threw up her hands in a gesture of peace. ‘It’s alright. Bearer let her in.’  
Fawn did not reply. Looking slightly distrustful, she lowered the sword to the workstation, which Clary tentatively Clary approached, pausing beside White once she had reached it.  
‘Fawn Faun,’ White then said, ‘this is Clary...’  
‘Garraway,’ Clary supplied when White trailed off expectantly, not knowing her surname.  
‘Fawn’s our supplier,’ White informed Clary. ‘Weapons and equipment. And this is our depository.’  
‘It’s, uh, it’s nice to meet you,’ Clary said awkwardly to Fawn.  
‘Whether the feeling’s mutual remains to be seen,’ Fawn replied sceptically, looking Clary up and down, making Clary feel self-conscious. ‘No outsider’s seen the inside of the institute before. Are you becoming a Shadowhunter Clary?’  
‘No but I support their cause,’ Clary replied. ‘Plus I’ve taken a Magisters Oath that pretty much ensures I’ll be keeping my mouth shut.’  
‘Well that makes me feel better,’ said Fawn before she grinned again and offered Clary her hand.  
‘Look, long story short,’ said White once Clary had shaken Fawn’s hand with an uneasy smile. ‘We’ve got a mission. In London.’  
‘Another one? You just had one,’ Fawn asked and then peered down at the weapons on the workstation. ‘I’ve got all these weapons to fix from the fight ya’ll just came from.’  
‘It’s the aftermath,’ White replied. ‘A casket was stolen from the cemetery. And there was a dead magicwielder in it. She’s gotta be in all kinds of pain so we need to bring her back to her grave asap. Bearer’s scryed the culprit and he’s in London. I’ve got the crystal. I need a GPS.’  
Suddenly looking all business-like, Fawn nodded and turned to the shelf of equipment behind her. GPS? Clary thought. What good was that going to do?  
Watching Fawn grab a box from the shelf and begin to rifle through it, Clary shifted her weight from foot to foot. Now that they knew where the cyclops was, she wanted to get to London and find him and find her mother. Although the scrying hadn’t specified where in London they were. That was even if the cyclops was still with the casket.  
‘Here we are,’ Fawn said, pulling a GPS out of the box. ‘Give me the crystal White.’  
As she placed the GPS flat on the workstation, White handed her the scrying crystal without question or qualm. Taking it, she placed it on the workstation and then turned back to the GPS. Pulling it closer to herself, she concentrated upon it, before she waved her hand over it. All of a sudden, the solid black screen of the GPS became liquefied. Clary was surprised by this but Fawn was not. This was exactly what she had wanted to happen. The screen now looked like black water. Like if you tipped it to the side, it would spill out.  
Without removing her eyes from the GPS, Fawn reached for the crystal. Dangling it above the GPS, she then slowly began to lower it into the device. Into the water, which swallowed the crystal whole. Once the crystal had gone, fully submerged into the GPS, Fawn, her eyes narrowed in concentration, waved the same hand over the device. Instantly the screen solidified again, going back to the way it was, the way it ought to be. Clary was lost and a little panicked.  
‘What just happened?’ she demanded. ‘We needed that!’  
‘Patience little grasshopper,’ Fawn responded calmly, giving Clary the sort of look that Meg gave Oliver when trying to get him to understand something, like how it wasn’t nice to pull people’s hair. ‘London is a big city. You wouldn’t have known where to start. That’s why White wanted a GPS. Now you’ll know where to go. Once you get to London, turn the GPS on and it’ll not only show you the area which your target is in but a blip to show you exactly where you target is. But knowing you White, someone’s going to get hurt. Be careful.’  
‘Isn’t that Eileen’s line?’ White asked, raising a brow at her.  
‘Well Eileen’s working a double at the asylum tonight so I’m telling you instead,’ Fawn responded, holding out the GPS to White who took it.  
‘I’m sorry, who’s Eileen?’ Clary asked, thinking she already knew the answer as White pocketed the GPS.  
‘Bearer’s reptilian girlfriend,’ Fawn replied. ‘She’s like the mum around here. She cooks and cleans and nags.’  
‘We should go,’ White said as Clary processed what she had just learnt about the receptionist she had spoken to numerous times. ‘Who knows what we’re gonna find or have to fight when we find the cyclops. See ya Fawn.’  
He turned and started to leave but Clary did not follow. A thought had just occurred to her.  
‘Wait,’ she said, waiting until White had faced her before continuing, ‘You’re right. We don’t know what we might find. Maybe I should have a weapon? You know, just in case my magic doesn’t work properly.’  
‘That’s not a bad idea,’ Fawn mused, walking out from behind the workstation, her hooves click-clacking on the stone floor. ‘Maybe a whip? Or a machete?’  
Fawn considered Clary, tapping her chin thoughtfully before gazing at the weapons on the right hand wall.  
‘Do you have any experience using weapons?’ Fawn asked Clary over her shoulder.  
‘Only if you consider magic a weapon,’ Clary replied, ‘which I don’t. So no.’  
‘All these weapons are imbued with magic,’ Fawn said, running her hand over the hilts of a pair of maces, a look that was somewhere between fondness and arousal upon her face. ‘The Iron Sisters who send them to us make them that way. Course they don’t know that they’re arming Shadowhunters. I add the symbol myself. These weapons are all kinds of amazing. White’s shotel for instance can set on fire whenever he wants.’  
As Fawn continued to peruse the artillery, Clary glanced over at White to see him running a finger down his shotel, which was sheathed at his side.  
‘Ah here we are,’ said Fawn.  
Clary looked to see her removing what appeared to be a black gun of some sort from a hook on the wall.  
‘This,’ said Fawn once she had it in hand and was showing it to Clary, ‘is a modified taser gun. It shoots out an unlimited supply of lightningballs. It’s pretty cool and you don’t need to be GI Joe to use it.’   
She held out the gun to Clary who took it cautiously. She had suggested having a weapon lest she wasn’t able to concentrate and her magic didn’t come and that led to the cyclops getting away but Clary had never used a weapon before and perhaps that was made clear by the ginger way she held the gun.  
‘You could do with a holster,’ Fawn then said.  
Raising a hand, she clicked her fingers and a holster appeared instantly, strapped around Clary’s waist.  
‘And some shoes and, uh, a jacket too,’ Fawn added before waving her hand over the floor beside Clary, causing a pair of sneakers and a jacket to appear there.  
‘Thanks and thanks again,’ Clary said, placing the gun into the holster whilst stepping into the sneakers, appreciating the shoes in particular.  
‘You can keep it all,’ Fawn, turning her attention to the weapons on the workstation that needed tending, responded as Clary put on the jacket. ‘Good luck, both of you.’  
‘Let’s go,’ White then told Clary.  
She nodded and she followed him out of the depository.   
Back in the bunker, Clary discovered that Navy and Red were the only other two present. Navy, still in the kitchen, was in the middle of shouldering his bow and arrow laden quiver. She supposed that was the goat in him. Red was sat on a couch, filing her nails with the side of a dagger.  
‘Get up,’ White told the two of them, marching towards the bunker’s exit, Clary in tow. ‘Got a mission. I could use the back-up.’  
‘A mission?’ Navy repeated, getting to his feet as a frowning Red, placing the dagger back into her utility belt, stood too.  
‘Yep,’ White replied over his shoulder. ‘Let’s go.’  
‘Wait, what is it?’ Red asked, hastily following alongside Navy after White and Clary.  
‘Clary’s mother’s casket,’ White replied. ‘We need to get it back.’  
‘And she’s coming with us?’ Red asked, sounding displeased.  
Clary didn’t have to turn around to know that Red had referred to her.  
‘Just consider her an honorary Shadowhunter,’ White replied.  
Clary heard Red sigh behind her in a disapproving manner but was too concerned with the mission to bother retorting.  
When White reached the closed part of the wall which was the concealed exit, he took a breath and did the same thing that Bearer had done. Staring at the wall, he raised a hand and swept it to the side, causing part of the wall to slide to the right, revealing the way out.  
White was the first to pass into the stone corridor and the others followed, Clary glancing over her shoulder at Bearer’s office and the repository. She was grateful for both Bearer’s and Fawn’s help. Navy was the last one in the corridor and when he closed the entrance behind himself, White was halfway up the staircase and opening up the floor that led back into the mortuary by waving his way over it and stating the phrase ‘open sesame’. He spoke it and waved three times before part of the floor vanished and part of the viewing room came into sight.  
White preceded the others out of the hole. Once all of them were out, Red was the one to close the hole, after which, staring at the altar, she clicked her fingers and the altar slid back into its original position, over the part of the floor beneath which was the Shadowhunters’ institute.  
‘Wait,’ Navy hollered as he, Clary and Red hastened after White who was striding down the aisle towards the viewing room door. ‘What’s the plan here?’  
‘Clearly the cyclops is a second tier demon,’ White replied without looking back or stopping. ‘Which is why he has magic. But I’ve never seen a second tier- or even a magicwielder- use magic that advanced. I’m hoping he still has your mom Clary. If he does, our task is simple. We get the casket and we take him out.’  
‘You consider that simple?’ Clary asked worriedly and when none of the Shadowhunters responded, ‘What if the cyclops doesn’t have Mom?’  
‘Then our job becomes harder,’ White responded, ‘but let’s think positive.’  
Clary swallowed, White’s words having done nothing to ignite her confidence.  
No-one spoke again until Clary and the Shadowhunters arrived outside the mortuary. It was when they were standing in the dark cemetery again that White turned to the others.  
‘We have the GPS if anything changes but for now our destination is South Kensington, London,’ White told them. ‘Think of that when we portal.’  
Red and Navy nodded and then Clary watched as, in unison, the three Shadowhunters threw out their hands to their sides. Instantly broomsticks appeared in said hands.  
‘You can ride with me,’ White told Clary.  
‘What, she can’t ride a broom by herself?’ Red demanded just when Clary had been about to refuse White.  
‘We need someone to be navigator,’ White replied firmly. ‘And Clary, I thought you wanted to end your mother’s pain? Arguing here will just prolong it.’  
Clary opened her mouth to protest but closed it slowly, knowing that White had been right. Red didn’t say anything either but her stiff demeanour made it obvious that she wasn’t happy.  
As Navy and Red cast dropped their brooms to the ground and cast flying spells upon them, White did too. Once all three broomsticks were hovering a few feet above the earth, the three Shadowhunters mounted them. They waited for Clary to climb on behind White and, without argument, she did so. After she had, White reached into his pocket and pulled out the GPS, which he held over his shoulder to Clary.  
‘Take this,’ he said, ‘Don’t turn it on yet though.’  
Without saying anything, Clary took the GPS from him and pocketed it. As the Shadowhunters kicked off from the ground, Clary wrapped her arms around White’s waist and looked back at the cemetery when the brooms flew out of it. There was no evidence of the battle that had occurred any more. There were only the memories of it. Unwanted.


End file.
